


Izuru Kamukura’s Cuddly Toy

by Suitov



Series: Izuru Kamukura's Cuddly Toy [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Agender Izuru Kamukura, Alexithymia, Autistic Character, Comedy, First Person, Fluff, Information overload, Love, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Izuru Kamukura, Understanding, but can barely access his emotions, for reasons that eventually become clear, he behaves differently from canon, izuru is as emotionless as in canon, izuru x fluff otp, kamukoma later on, main ship is izuru x fluffy things, might destroy the world, more proactive and mischievous in general, nonbinary imposter, really likes fluffy animals, spoilers in comments, talks like a weirdo, which is to say not emotionless at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 17:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14623173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suitov/pseuds/Suitov
Summary: When your artificial demigod emerges from his pod uncooperative and violent, what do you do?  Give him something to cuddle!It… works?(A story about understanding.  There is Kamukoma shipping towards the end.  Hope’s Peak Academy Fluffiness Committee hopes you enjoy.)





	1. 0 days, 0 hours old

#### 0 days, 0 hours old

I am in a pod. I get out of the pod.

Human beings are around me. According to my programming, I am to consider these my teachers and I am expected to pay attention to them.

I am to be called “Izuru Kamukura”, my teachers say.

One of the teachers attempts to touch my arm. I do not like this, so I throw him across the room.

Another attempts the same. I throw her across the room, also.

A third starts talking to me in a low, excessively gentle tone. She is patronising. I ignore her. (I was already aware I have nothing to fear, and it is not entirely accurate that they are only here to help me.)

I hear concerned voices from behind the soundproof one-way window, followed by a group of people being hurriedly ushered away.

The teachers retreat into a huddle. They are discussing courses of action. Their conversation is unenlightening. They had expected me to be more cooperative. They are afraid.

One of the teachers leaves the room and returns with an electric prod. He attempts barking orders at me. I give him a long look to make sure he knows how stupid he is being. But I walk ahead of them to the room they indicate. None of them tries to touch me, so I do not throw any of them.

The room is boring. My teachers leave me here.

#### 0 days, 2 hours old

Two of my teachers return. They ask if I remember my purpose. In accordance with my programming, I tell them my purpose is to be humanity’s hope.

The directive “be humanity’s hope” is nebulously defined. I do not tell them this. If I do, it is a near certainty they will alter it to be more restrictive.

A third teacher appears with medical instruments. He approaches me with a blood pressure cuff. I throw him, then it, across the room. Immediately they all begin to scold me. I ignore this.

They are frustrated. They leave.

#### 0 days, 4 hours old

My teachers have not given up on examining me medically. I see no reason to let them near. I would be aware were anything wrong with my body, I tell them. They say they know, but just in case…

I find this illogical and anyway I do not wish to be touched, so I tell them to go away. They try to press the issue, but as soon as I lift a hand, they retreat. They are learning.

After they leave, I hear them cursing outside the room.

#### 0 days, 5 hours old

They feed me.

This is my first experience eating. I find it uninteresting. I try analysing the nutrients. This makes the boredom worse because the balance is a few percentage points off ideal.

I sit on my bed and sulk.

#### 0 days, 8 hours old

I go to sleep.

#### 0 days, 15 hours old

I wake up. I decide I do not particularly like sleep. It is boring.

#### 0 days, 22 hours old

My teachers are irrational and I do not feel like being cooperative. Thus, we are at an impasse. Judging by past data, I hold out no hope that they will resolve it intelligently.

#### 1 day, 3 minutes old

A teacher opens the door to my room, shoves a toy inside and closes the door again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments on most/all chapters contain significant spoilers. We love comments, but use caution if reading them first.


	2. 1 day, 5 minutes old

#### 1 day, 5 minutes old

The toy is just sitting there. This is pointless. What the teachers hope to achieve by this is unimaginable.

#### 1 day, 9 minutes old

The toy does look fluffy.

#### 1 day, 14 minutes old

I admit to a little curiosity...

#### 1 day, 18 minutes old

A teacher comes and attempts to remove the toy. I throw her out.

#### 1 day, 19 minutes old

I am not sure why I did that.

#### 1 day, 26 minutes old

I experiment. The toy is indeed fluffy. He is also soft and cuddly. I name him Dandelion.

#### 1 day, 30 minutes old

Dandelion has bright, shining eyes, a button nose, and, as previously noted, a very fluffy mane. He is the prettiest thing I have ever seen.

#### 1 day, 31 minutes old

I have not seen many things.

#### 1 day, 32 minutes old

Nevertheless, Dandelion is very pretty.

#### 1 day, 1 hour, 38 minutes old

A teacher returns with medical equipment. I consent to put the blood pressure cuff on my own arm and let him read the output. This solution is obvious and I should have thought of it sooner.

#### 1 day, 1 hour, 39 minutes old

Things are proceeding more smoothly than on previous occasions. I tentatively attribute this to Dandelion’s presence, though the mechanism is yet to be understood because he is not doing anything special.

#### 1 day, 1 hour, 41 minutes old

I provide a blood sample at the teacher’s request. For some reason he is disconcerted at the sight. Should I not be calm and precise when drawing my own blood?

I offer to take a sample from Dandelion too. The teacher grits his teeth, then says that will not be necessary.

#### 1 day, 1 hour, 48 minutes old

Pending blood analysis, I am pronounced perfectly healthy. I could have told them so from the beginning, and in fact did.

#### 1 day, 1 hour, 56 minutes old

My teachers do not realise I can hear them through the door and I do not plan to enlighten them. The teacher who has just left the room is talking to another. I hear the words “let them know he’s calmed down enough to begin testing”.

I have never been other than calm. I do not think I feel very much of anything.

#### 1 day, 2 hours, 29 minutes old

I am cuddling Dandelion, with my face buried in his soft fluff, when a teacher arrives. The teacher looks disapproving. I do not care.

The teacher gives me a few worksheets and asks me to complete them. Since the request is delivered politely, I comply. However, if he glares at Dandelion again next time, I may not comply.

#### 1 day, 2 hours, 30 minutes old

That was boring. I go back to holding Dandelion.

#### 1 day, 3 hours, 29 minutes old

The teacher returns and is initially angry until he realises the work is done. I tell him it was too easy and there was a misprint.

#### 1 day, 4 hours old

They bring further tests. I complete them. I let Dandelion read over my shoulder. He does not contribute answers. I think the material is beyond him.

It does not matter if he cannot match me intellectually. The important thing is that he is fluffy.

#### 1 day, 5 hours old

Dandelion is a good listener.

#### 1 day, 8 hours old

I go to sleep, hugging Dandelion.

#### 1 day, 14 hours old

I have discovered that my initial conclusion about sleep contained a flaw, or at least requires elaboration. Sleep is boring _if performed alone_. Sleep _while cuddling something fluffy_ is pleasant on a visceral level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izuru tones down the frequency of the timestamps from this point, never fear. Everything is still very new to him.
> 
> (Still spoilers in the comments.)


	3. 1 day, 14 hours, 26 minutes old

#### 1 day, 14 hours, 26 minutes old

Shortly after breakfast, one of my teachers comes to remove Dandelion. Initially I resist this idea, but the teacher persuades me that he needs to be absent while I am tested and promises he will be returned to me later. I warn her that my cooperation is contingent on this promise being fulfilled. The teacher smiles and calls me sweet. This is such a non sequitur that I have nothing to say.

She leaves with Dandelion, and returns with books and equipment. My tasks for the day are more extensive, though still not challenging.

If they attempt to use Dandelion’s presence or absence to control me, things will go poorly for them.

#### 1 day, 15 hours, 2 minutes old

I remove the label from the inside of my shirt collar. Whoever decided my skin sensitivity ought to be turned up to ‘exquisite’ should be made to live like that for a day and then given the opportunity to change their mind.

#### 1 day, 16 hours old

I sketch Dandelion in a margin. For some reason, the idea of one of my teachers noticing this and being confused feels satisfying. I think this is amusement.

I have the talent of three successive Ultimate Comedians. I know how jokes are constructed and I know how to deliver material with flawless timing. I perform perfect impressions. I can tumble, prat-fall, double-take and spit-take. In short, I know how to make people laugh.

This is the first time I have considered what is funny.

Now I think about it, since my teachers are having me demonstrate my talents anyway, perhaps I will tell Dandelion some jokes later. He is always an appreciative audience.

I write “FLUFFY” beneath the sketch and underline it. I would be interested to see their reactions. This is illogical, given that I can already predict those reactions to high accuracy. Still…

#### 2 days, 2 hours, 38 minutes old // 15:39

I finally glimpse a teacher’s watch. Previously, none of them has worn one into my room. I suspect this was by design and that this one may have slipped up.

Now I know that I initially came to consciousness at 13:01. The hour of my ‘birth’… I am irritated to have been off by one minute.

Dandelion and some snacks are delivered. It seems the latter are intended as some kind of reward for my completion of my work. I could give the teachers some pointers on effective psychological conditioning, but it would not be in my best interests.

Dandelion enjoys my jokes.

#### 20:33, day 2

I inform a teacher that they can bring more potato chips next time because Dandelion prefers them to mochi. The teacher gives me a strange look.

I am politely discouraged from taking Dandelion into the shower with me. I see their logic, though I do not think Dandelion would have objected. Now I think about it, he has always been clean when they bring him. When I bury my face in his fluff there is a faint floral scent.

I hope he is treated well when he is not with me. He has not said.

#### 20:52

Even though my hair is not fluffy, only silky, Dandelion likes me just as I am.

#### 20:59

Another heated conversation outside.

“Because it’s unseemly for the Ultimate blasted Hope to go to sleep every night cuddling—”

“Oh yes, and are you going to try to separate them? Better wear crash gear and let me film—”

“Look, for god’s sake, be practical. The little asshole’s been a problem for everyone since he arrived; well, now he’s too busy to get in trouble. _And_ we finally have a method of control, so it’s two birds, one stone. Anyhow, as long as we deliver results, nobody’ll care—”

“I should think the directors would care that their money-sink of a vanity project is infatuated with a—”

“ _Ito, this place came equipped with cattle prods and a water cannon._ You think they give a shit how we operate? Get real. The brief was simple. We deliver them their teenage multitool, we make our careers and their fortunes, and nobody’s counting broken eggs.”

“W-wait! You mean the water cannon is intended for…?”

“What, you never noticed it doesn’t point outwards?”

“But that’s horrible… He’s just a teenage boy…”

“A teenage boy who was tossing us around like rag dolls until we got him under control. I mean, I’m glad there was a non-violent solution too, but wake up. You knew what you were signing up for here.”

Someone turns around and stomps away.1

I bury my face in fluff to make my thoughts slow down. I close my eyes.

#### 21:44

Riot weaponry does not concern me. It is a non-issue to one of my capabilities. Being described as a tool and a vanity project does not concern me. I was under no illusions as to the circumstances of my inception.

Their contempt for _him_ is what will not leave my mind. I think I may be feeling anger.

I forcibly slow my heart rate, inhale Dandelion’s gentle scent and finally achieve sleep.

#### 06:32, day 3

My teachers’ cooking has not improved. I consider volunteering my assistance. On reflection, I decide my policy will be to wait until asked.

Because Dandelion is always smiling, I decide I will smile myself occasionally. That way we will match.

I suspect it would be impossible to stop Dandelion smiling without a needle, thread and force, and even if he were not the most beautiful thing in the world, I would never mutilate him like that.

Nobody will.

I feel uneasy when they take him away. I remind myself that according to my projections, his safety is overwhelmingly likely.

#### 07:03

A teacher appears and asks me questions about “Dandelion’s” preferences in a way that makes it painfully obvious they think I am projecting onto him.

I lead the teacher around in circles with increasingly outlandish answers until it grows boring, then I casually inform him that Dandelion and I are two separate people. His pen snaps in his hand. He leaves.

As if I would ever tell them what _I_ am thinking.

I am becoming more certain that this feeling is amusement.

#### 08:30

Today they want me to disassemble a car engine.

#### 10:46

I have made what improvements I can, given the paucity of tools and materials, and reassembled it.

Motor oil is not a satisfying artistic medium. It is also not fluffy. I spend the rest of the day bored.

#### 15:49

They finally come to collect the engine. I get them to bring cleaning products for the floor, then let me out to shower and change, so that Dandelion does not get covered in oil when they deliver him.

I try smiling at the teacher, who yelps and leaves in a hurry. Possibly I need additional practice.

Dandelion, at least, likes my smile.

#### 16:31

My teachers deliver a stack of board games. Another ‘reward’, I surmise. Dandelion tries his best as an opponent but the games themselves prove disappointing. As soon as I analyse the optimal strategy, every roll and every card draw proceeds exactly the same every time. In addition, the components are all wood, card and plastic, which seems like wasted potential.

For a while I practise rolling whatever numbers I want on the dice, first by trick throws, then by luck, then a combination. Dandelion is full of admiration, or perhaps jealousy.

I reassure him that he is perfect.

At some point they bring food. I request notebooks. I sketch out a concept for a board game with perfect balance, an array of equally effective strategies, an accessible learning curve, and pieces made out of a variety of soft materials. The fluffier, the higher point value. It is an educational game.

#### 02:13, day 4

I decide to let myself out of my room and explore the campus. Dandelion comes too, of course.

A number of the places I discover have potential to be useful, chiefly labs and workshops. I now have an accurate mental map of the area and have felt rain and wind for the first time.

I return to my room, Dandelion in tow and my teachers none the wiser. They can keep believing their biometric security systems are effective.

(Maybe, if they asked, I would help them make improvements. But nobody asks me these things, even though they _know_ I am more capable than them all, and I have already decided not to volunteer information, so it is not my problem.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Hope’s Peak Academy Fluffiness Committee apologises for Izuru’s failure to label the dialogue. He doesn’t care enough to differentiate the research staff from each other. (If it helps, there were three people speaking here, but there are more than that on staff in total.)


	4. 06:14, day 4

#### 06:14, day 4

Someday I may find out exactly what mysterious ability Dandelion has that makes everything seem less bleak. I suppose I could perform exploratory surgery. That was a joke. Marring his perfect exterior with cuts and stitches would be a crime.

#### 07:09

“Like a child with a teddy bear,” the teacher says, seeing me holding Dandelion. His tone and expression are disapproving.

“Dandelion is not a bear,” I tell him, “and technically I am four days old.”

He mutters something uncomplimentary and removes the breakfast tray.

#### 08:30

They continue testing my abilities in plodding sequence. Today they want me to write a screenplay. They have not yet been stupid enough to give me access to a computer, so it is to be handwritten.

This task needs to be made more engaging.

#### 08:34

The teacher who gave me the task returns in a hurry in order to specify that the screenplay may not be about Dandelion or Dandelion-like personages and that the word “fluffy” is prohibited.

The challenge is accepted.

#### 12:28

The main characters are named Duffy, Muffy and Buffy, and I have concealed the word “dandelion” in 93 separate places2. The task was still undemanding, so I alternated hands, used different handwriting on every page and wrote a third of them upside down to stave off boredom. Now that I have finished, I am alone with my thoughts again.

#### 14:10

If I were to be any animal, I think I would like to be a tiger. They are fluffy and nobody gets in their way.

#### 15:12

Plans for a clock, a steam engine and a lawnmower now fill a few spare pages. Each has a carefully hidden, catastrophic flaw. If at any point I hear something explode, I will know they are actually doing something with my ideas instead of merely filing them away somewhere.

I suppose this room would fill up quickly if they did not keep taking away all the notes they know about.

I am bored.

#### 15:40

I am no longer bored.

Also, they have brought books.

#### 18:03

The teacher bringing food stops short, glares at Dandelion—who is artfully arranged on the bed for maximum prettiness, and has a book propped open on his legs—and tells me the books are supposed to be for me.

I am being a good boy and sharing, I tell him. As intended, this sends him away fuming.

#### 19:12

I hear a passing conversation through my door. “…supposed to say to the high muckity-mucks? Sirs, may I present Izuru Kamukura _and his favourite fluffy-wuffy_? Ultimate Hope should be _manly_ …”

I have already suggested they put Dandelion on the payroll under a noncommittal assistant title. It is their own fault for not listening.

As for manly, I do not even know if I have a gender. I find aggressive posturing distasteful. I like machines, but I like fluffy animals more. Stereotypes are complicated.

#### 21:03

I do not mind overhearing myself being called a science fair project or an expressionless freak. I do not mind being treated as a nonhuman, because I suppose this is accurate in ways. I do not mind the testing, the daily clumsy psychological probing, the way they darken the room whenever there is nothing they want me to do.

I dislike being _hindered_. I dislike the petty procedure. I dislike having been created with a purpose and being forbidden to fulfil it. I dislike being given all these talents and then made to sit around while they grow stale. I dislike the _waiting_.

I know that eventually someone will come along to exploit me. I know that, depending on how stupid they are and the things they require of me, I may think fondly on the boredom and wish its return.

My programming in the pod, before I was awoken, should have resigned me to the idea of being used and controlled. That I am starting to resent it is… concerning.

I will report my faulty thinking to my teachers so that they may correct it.

That was a joke.

Dandelion is the patient recipient of my whispered night-time confessions. Even this, I can only do because they have never bothered installing surveillance devices in this room. Were it not for him… I suppose I would be sitting in the dark, bored with the world, without even a tuft of hope.

#### Day 5

They tell me to paint. I paint.

At night, I go out and find something interesting to read.

#### Day 6

“Who is Hajime Hinata?” I ask one of my teachers.

He puts down the drafting table with a loud thud. “Where did you hear that name?” he demands.

“It just came into my head,” I say with every appearance of casual innocence, because all projections confirm this response leads to a better outcome than _I went through the headmaster’s computer last night_.

“Well, let it go right out again,” says the teacher. “Hinata was a nobody and now he _is_ nobody. Forget that name. All you need be concerned with is talent and doing what you’re told.”

It is all the confirmation I need. The question remains, though. Who was Hajime Hinata, and why did he choose to die to create me?

I think about him while I design them their sub-orbital aircraft. The major problem in the field of aerodynamics, as I see it, is that fluffiness raises drag coefficient. It is boring when things are entirely smooth.

I spend a quiet evening with Dandelion. Neither of us is in the mood to talk much and silences with him are never boring. I stroke his fluff and think about biochemistry.

#### Day 7

My teachers continue to model my schedule after a school day—rise, wash, be fed, be parted from Dandelion, work, have Dandelion returned, spend unscheduled evening time with whatever they decide to throw in here, then sleep—albeit notably without weekends. Presumably nobody thinks I need leisure days, since the concept of leisure has been edited out of me. Anyhow, given that _of course_ I am unable to leave this room, being left with no work to do would be false kindness. At least they understand that I get bored.

I put Dandelion to bed early and join him myself not long after. Tonight I have plans.

#### 7:07, day 8

Excitement outside my room quickly turns into an irate delegation of teachers.

It seems the Ultimate Pharmacist has reported a break-in at her lab. Many chemicals are missing or depleted. There was no damage and the criminal left no traces, which is how they know it was me.

“What in the hell were you doing?” demands one of them, red-faced and practically spitting.

“Dandelion felt ill, so I prepared him some medicine,” I say.

“ _For the love of_ —” For a moment he seems about to bang his head into the wall, but he does not. A shame. I have never seen someone do that. “Chemicals are not _toys_!”

“Forget the why; blank-faced little bastard’s not going to tell us the truth,” says another. “How did you get _out_ , Kamukura?”

“I am Ultimate Hope, after all,” I say. “I’m told hope has a way of appearing in the most impossible situations.”

They rise to the bait so easily.

The angriest one snarls, “Well, _hope_ had better straighten the hell up and stop pulling stunts like this, before the Steering Committee decide _hope_ is more trouble than he’s worth and sell him to the government or som—”

“Ito!” hisses another teacher and drags him out by the arm before he can say anything else interesting.

I ask another teacher to convey my apologies to the Pharmacist for the inconvenience.

Of course, they confiscate Dandelion and vow he will not be returned. I am sorry to see him go. I am confident that he will be back soon.

I decide to behave for the rest of the day.

#### 23:19

Some girls visit me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 He spelled it out in the first and last letters of lines, concealed it in minor character names like “van der Ryan” and “Dan the Liar”, crowbarred in a lot of phrases like “handy line” and “candle iron”, and named the setting Taraxacum, New Mexico.


	5. 23:19, day 8

#### 23:19, day 8

There are two of them; I identify them as an Analyst and a Soldier. Like everyone else, they want to use me for something. I wait for them to tell me what.

The Analyst, a little muffled by my foot pressing her face into the floor, sets out her stall with practised persuasiveness. In the scenario she dangles before me, she emphasises freedom to act, freedom from consequences, and no “little busybodies” to stand in my way.

As one Analyst to another, she sells it very well.

“This despair-filled world of yours,” I say.

“What about it, gorgeous?”

“Will it be… fluffy?”

My tone, expression, body language give her no hint; she hesitates for a split second, then decides which way to jump. “No way. All of that fluffy happy-clappy feely crap, gone, baby! You won’t have to pretend for the normies ever again. Doesn’t that sound despairingly fabulous?”

“Hmm,” I hedge, and then decide there is no more need for her to be awake.

My eyes flick over the unconscious girl. This is a new experience. The scent of her… it is something I have never encountered, but can instantly put a name to. Sweet, sickly, decaying—here my Ultimate Cook knowledge offers up the comparison with a melon rotting in the sun, something else I have never seen.

I am talking about beneath the surface, of course. Physically she smells of curry rice, scented body wash, viscera and excitement.

Her hair looks fluffy. Somehow I am not at all drawn to touch it.

This entire examination takes place in the moment after my foot knocks her out and before the Soldier gasps “Junko!” and begins to drag herself across the floor from where I threw her earlier. I do not care enough to stop her, because she is focused on the Analyst and ignoring me.

(And because she looks at the Analyst the way I imagine I look at Dandelion.)

She gathers the Analyst into her arms. I stir; she looks up at me with undisguised fear.

“You have about thirty seconds until the alarms go off,” I say. “When she wakes up, give her a message from me.”3

#### Day 9

Nobody mentions the girls’ visit. My teachers go about their business calmly, which tells me a lot, given that (a) I know for certain that the girls killed multiple people on their way in and (b) my teachers cannot act.

Remembering that I have the body of a teenage boy, I interrogate it for any kind of hormonal response to the proximity of teenage girls. I feel nothing. Apparently some of my conditioning actually worked. It is something of a relief.

However, by the evening, my teachers are excited over something completely different: my previous foray into pharmacology. It seems the Pharmacist has found the carefully-labelled vials I put in her safe before I left, by way of thanks for the use of her lab, and has had time to analyse them. Now my teachers, realising that when I said I developed medicines I in fact meant I _developed medicines_ rather than played with coloured liquids in beakers, want me to develop others.

I innocently enquire after Dandelion’s condition. He is returned to my possession with alacrity. So I cooperate with the orders that are handed down to me. Notably, the suggestions I am told to provide all relate to geriatric conditions, hair loss and sexual dysfunction, rather than anything life-saving.

This is consistent with things I have learned during my unofficial explorations.

They could at least be _subtle_ about it.

There is no suggestion of letting me talk to the Pharmacist directly, implying that my existence is still classified. I wonder what story they told her. Perhaps she thinks there is a ghost on campus. A ghost oncologist that carefully washes glassware after use4.

I go to sleep holding Dandelion. He missed me too. There is no sign of further visits from the girls and I do not feel like going out tonight.

#### Day 10

The sight of Dandelion’s shining eyes this morning puts me in a good mood. I settle into my normal routine without complaint and do not even play any serious tricks on my teachers.

I do wonder how they intend to test certain of my skills without letting me out. Ultimate Windsurfer? Ultimate Biker Gang Leader? Ultimate Beauty Pageant Queen? And there are abilities I would prefer they not make me demonstrate at all.

Ultimate Animal Trainer might be fun. I could interact with fluffy pets. And somebody would listen to me for a change.

#### Day 11

Hajime Hinata has been frequently in my thoughts. While Dandelion sleeps in my warm spot, I go out stalking a dead boy.

Here is what I find out:

Hajime Hinata was poor at choosing passwords. His emails were unenlightening, being largely school newsletters or interactions with teachers about coursework and deadlines. He followed many of the Main Course students on social media but never interacted with them beyond ‘liking’ every photo they posted related to their talents. Among his fellow Reserve Course students he had only one or two friendly acquaintances.

Hajime Hinata worried about homework. He had a favourite teacher. He had a crush. He had emotions. He was ordinary.

Here are Hajime Hinata’s search queries over the last few days he used a computer.

  * _am i a fake gamer boy_
  * _can ultimates date non-ultimates_
  * _homework stress_
  * _stress relief techniques for students_
  * _2 player coop games_
  * _romantic 2 player coop games_
  * _signs of yakuza revenge killing_
  * _how to tell if rib is broken_
  * _kusamochi recipe_
  * _kusamochi recipe beginners_
  * _experimental surgery risks_
  * _living wills_
  * _cheap safe deposit box_
  * _how to say goodbye maybe forever_



Other than making a mental note to look into the matter of that safe deposit box, I can find nothing to say. This boy died and now I am alive. Gratitude seems wrong. Contempt seems ungrateful.

If I were a good little artificial hope, I should approve of Hajime Hinata’s total commitment to the ideals of the academy. I should applaud him for making the one contribution to the world that is possible for someone so talentless and ordinary.

Terms like “sucker”, “fanatic”, or “sad and senseless loss of life” should definitely not occur to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 Junko’s sales pitch went differently here because Izuru’s responses to her were different. In the original, as here, she adapts fluidly to the cues her targets give her. Until Izuru out-weirds her and she makes an unlucky call.
> 
> 4 My one regret is that Izuru is not pop-culture savvy enough to make a “Cancer, the Friendly Ghost” crack.


	6. Day 12

#### Day 12

There is an informal convention between Ultimates that is embodied in the phrase “Let me do my job”. This is something an Ultimate will say only to another Ultimate; it signifies that the matter at hand is related to one’s talent and therefore not to be disputed. Among themselves, Ultimates can be territorial about their areas of expertise.

The other aspect to this convention, and the part that benefits me, is that it is considered impolite and futile to forbid an Ultimate from pursuing their talent.

The way this benefits me is that as long as I can relate whatever I happen to be doing to one of my talents, my teachers will generally let me get on with it, providing no obvious rule-breaking is involved.

For example, if I happen to be singing and dancing around with Dandelion because he likes it, and one of my teachers gives me an evil eye, all I have to do is say “Ultimate Opera Singer, Folk Singer, Singer-Songwriter, Pop Idol, Traditional Dancer, Disco Dancer, Ballroom Dancer, Heelwork to Music…” and they will sulkily leave the room before I am halfway through listing Ultimates.

#### 08:32, day 13

Today they want me to plan an assault on a fortified compound. This task feels dangerously different from previous ones. It feels _non-theoretical_.

I think it over for a long time.

Much information in the brief is omitted or outright redacted, but they cannot conceal from me that the “terrorist fortress” is actually a small civilian town. My report highlights some of the major discrepancies, invents new ones, cites suspected “faulty intel” and recommends further reconnaissance before any action can be safely taken.

Whoever asked for this is not going to be pleased with me.

I think that, on the whole, this might be better than the alternative.

It is not necessarily a good thing to have certain people regard me as useful.

#### 14:03

My teachers have shown two of my paintings to a former Ultimate Artist. They let me see his reviews. Here is the first:

> _Well, the technique is flawless. The objects appear almost photorealistic and three-dimensional. There is, however, a complete absence of emotion. For all the personality this piece shows, it could have been painted by a machine._

Here is his review of the second painting:

> _Are you sure this is the same artist? The technique is still masterful, but this time the feeling is all there. The more whimsical style serves to bring it out further: there is no questioning the artist’s absolute love for their subject. Taken as a whole, the scene, from the halo of sunlight giving an almost touchable quality to the tufts of hair, to the choice of the shrine entrance and wilting cherry branch for the background, overflows with a poignant tenderness that left my eyes less than dry._
> 
> _If this really is the same artist, I suggest they leave aside the indoor still-lifes for now and experiment further with this kind of quirky portrait and unusual subject. Would they care to contact me about exhibiting? My gallery is always looking to support new talent._

Obviously bringing in outside expertise is necessary for my teachers to assess my skills, so I am not surprised they would show my paintings around. I did not, however, expect them to choose the portrait of Dandelion, especially after their general reaction was that it was inappropriate and silly.

Of course, any sort of public exhibition of my work is out of the question. I do not even ask.

I hope the reviewer agrees with me about Dandelion’s surpassing beauty. He forgot to say.

#### 14:31

I learn from my teachers that a research paper on talent that I wrote has been accepted for publication. This interests me for a few seconds, until I notice that the version submitted has been edited heavily; namely, they have removed all the sections of my thesis concerning fluffiness, with the result that the paper now implies that talent is the only important thing in this world.

I do something I hardly ever do, and complain.

“You weren’t serious with all the fluffy crap, were you?” asks a teacher wearily. “There is no scientific basis for fluffy.”

“Oxytocin, primate allogrooming, significant correlation between the positioning of hair follicles and pleasure zones, the phenomenon of skin hunger, archaeological evidence for companion animals dating back to the earliest human settlements…”

“Holy shit, all _right_ , all _right_ ,” the teacher says. His back is pressed against the wall. The whites of his eyes are prominent. The others are positioned similarly.

I re-evaluate how I look at this precise moment and turn down all the dials marked ‘scary’.

“That is, I would appreciate it if you checked before making substantive changes to my work, in case errors are introduced,” I say extremely gently. “For example, you might like to refer to Morrison et al, 2010, University of Gothenburg5, before you dismiss fluffy.”

I try smiling reassuringly, but this proves to be a mistake. I am left alone for a while.

#### 09:40, day 14

I mention to a teacher that Dandelion is, objectively speaking, the most beautiful thing in the world. He is doubtful, so I request a whiteboard and prove it for him mathematically. He leaves without speaking. Valuable lessons are being learned about calling my bluff.

#### 14:44

This is what it means to be Ultimate Hope:

One of my teachers sits in my room, asking me psychological questions. Mentally modelling a suitably docile Izuru (not, of course, _unrealistically_ docile) and answering exactly as that Izuru would, without any noticeable thinking delay, takes up only a fraction of my attention, so I observe the teacher.

He is shifting uncomfortably in the chair he brought here with him. It is a bad chair and it is exacerbating his bad back.

On his breath, alongside cigarette smoke and gum, I can smell the pre-cancerous cells.

I know from tiny clues, overheard remarks and an occasional oblique reference in his emails that he is estranged from his children because of prejudices he holds.

He is having difficulty reading the notes in front of him and seems irritated by the lights in my room. His glasses appear quite new, meaning his prescription is changing fast. My guess would be cataracts.

That is a small selection. That is one single person.

The reason I do not like people talking loudly is that they are already screaming.

This is what it means to be Ultimate Hope:

I can see the exact shape of the cushion that would correct his posture and alleviate his pain. I could make it in five minutes, given foam padding, fabric and sewing materials. If I gave it a ‘manly’ design he would remember to use it up to three times before it would be left it to gather dust in his locker.

If he sees a specialist and gives up smoking immediately, he can add 5-10 years to his life. I calculate approximately even odds he would visit an oncologist if I tell him it is urgent. In all cases, the chance increases a little if I instead have another teacher persuade him. He does not like me.

With the talent of an Ultimate Therapist, I could repair the breach between him and his children. However, he wants nobody to know about his family situation, least of all me, and would not for any reason consent to therapy, which he thinks is for the weak.

I could tell him to go for an urgent eye examination and what to tell them to look for. But he is embarrassed about needing glasses, which he unconsciously links with some insecurity about his virility, and would tell me to mind my business.

People are infuriating.

#### 15:35

People are infuriating except for Dandelion, who is perfect even when he does not listen to me. I peck his button nose with a kiss and tell him his head is full of fluff. He agrees readily.

#### Day 15

At least there have been no more tasks of a military nature. Dressmaking comes with a lower body count, for which reason I think I prefer it. I am not exactly sure what preferring things is supposed to feel like. I prefer Dandelion to absence of Dandelion, anyway.

As soon as they bring him, I set on his head the flower crown I made earlier. Given that I have been ostensibly under my teachers’ observation all day and they certainly gave me no flowers, they want to know “how the hell you got those”.

“By being Izuru Kamukura,” I tell them, which elicits a variety of groans, tooth-grinding and hair-tearing. I can see them think about removing Dandelion in retaliation, but I had predicted that and have already got him.

Really I had just wanted to see how easy it would be to get out during the day, in plain view. The flowers were an afterthought. If they do not like it, perhaps they should have been more sensible than to give me the skills of an Ultimate Assassin, Ultimate Phantom Thief and Ultimate Ninja.

If I keep testing their patience like this, I will face consequences. I should scale it back.

#### Day 16

“Oh look, it’s Kamukura and Kamukuma,” smiles the teacher as she comes in.

I lift my face out of his fluffy mane to say “Dandelion is not a bear.”

“I know, Izuru,” she says, still with a smile.6

From my interactions with this particular teacher, I have decided that she deserves to be considered separately from the others. This is because her outlook is generally humane and because she says good morning and good afternoon to Dandelion, rather than ignoring him or giving him death glares when my back is turned. She does persist, contrary to all evidence, in calling me sweet, but is otherwise rational. I have nicknamed her Gentoo because she wears black and white with orange lipstick like a penguin. Her good mood is probably because she has been experiencing many small strokes of good luck lately.

The rest of my teachers can just stay nicknameless and keep suffering minor misfortunes until they adjust their attitudes.

Even though I still hope to find out whether or not he bequeathed himself anything interesting, I am resigned to never getting all the answers about Hajime Hinata. Still, while I work on my own, from time to time I find my thoughts turning in his direction. Never being fully engaged in the tasks I am given—because everything is too easy, always too easy—leaves me with plenty of spare mental capacity with which to pursue fruitless lines of thought.

I think mining Mercury would be the most viable way to build a Dyson ring. Once begun, the two projects would support each other.

I would like to visit a petting zoo.

I drag the work out for as long as I can, and then I am bored. They removed the whiteboard because they did not like the caricatures of themselves that kept appearing on it, which means I cannot doodle, play Hangman against myself or attempt to design a Langford basilisk. I flop on the bed and sulk instead.

There is no sign of Dandelion this evening. I flip through the textbooks they bring me, two at a time. I go to bed once they turn off the lights.

Two hours, ten minutes after that, I am visited by the girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 A paper about the nerves in hair follicles and their role in stroking and petting. Izuru is serious about his interests.
> 
> 6 I hope the teddybear pun works. Don’t know any Japanese.


	7. Day 16, 23:10

#### Day 16, 23:10

The Analyst is silhouetted in the doorway, hands on hips. “Izuru, honeybear, last chance to join the winning team,” she says.

“I was not aware of having invited you onto my team,” I say.

“Cute.” She is not coming further into the room. I make inferences from that. “What even was that bullcrap message you left with my sister? ‘Thank you, but I am not interested in changing my despair provider at this time’?”

Unspoken but deafening: _Nobody says no to me!_ Between two Ultimate Analysts, a lot need not be spoken.

“Is Mukuro there?” I say. “Hi, Mukuro.”

“Um…” comes from out of visual range.

“Hel-lo? Talk to me, not the nobody. Gawh, _rude_ ,” says the Analyst.

I say, “The new customer incentive package left something to be desired.”

“I offered you freedom! Unpredictability born of true despair! The power to stride over the broken world like a god! What better incentive is there?” She tilts her head. “Oh, I get it. You want a double handful of this luscious bod, I bet. Greedy boy. Well, I’m not that easy, but if you play nice…”

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

The temperature is plummeting. I mean this figuratively.

“I have to say, you’re a lot more disappointing than I expected, Izuru Kamukura. After everything this school’s done to you—all those brutal, despairful experiments, erasing your mind, locking you up to rot—you’re still their loyal puppydog?”

“Woof, woof,” I say. She wants to provoke me, but I feel no need to correct her.

“It’s your loss. Really, like for real, your loss. We’re done here. Shit’s already going down. Just stay out of my way from here on.” She turns on her high heel.

I wait, eyes narrowed.

The door begins to slide closed.

The Analyst’s grin appears in the gap. “Actually,” she says brightly, “I changed my mind. Too much risk and all. We’ll just step back a bit to Plan A.”

And, at the last instant before the security door seals, she tosses in a grenade.

I think about this—

_—lucky if it failed to go off?—no, audible through the door, they will wait to hear it—then left hand to flip the mattress (alloy walls → shrapnel richochet + danger to eardrums) stabilise with right present smallest profile to blast the door will be damaged but I can get it open ceiling light destroyed electrical hazard but I can see in the dark no objects I need to save so calculate angle think about the detailing on the green kimono I intend to make for Dandelion suck in a breath flip hair out of way tighten my luck around me and **leap** —_

Explosion.

I wait a calculated span of time, then a few extra seconds for sulking, before I emerge from under what was the mattress. It is ruined now as a hiding place, so I extract the multitool and comb I had sewn inside, pocket the multitool and begin combing mattress giblets out of my hair.

Then I go to work on the door. A piece of bedframe makes an adequate pry bar. I get the door open.

Dandelion is standing outside, covered in blood.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Are _you_?” I ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to go back looking for clues, now’s a good time, otherwise everything should become clear shortly. Hope’s Peak Academy Fluffiness Committee hopes at least some of you are surprised.


	8. Day 16, 23:24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are dead bodies coming up, not described in detail.

#### Day 16, 23:24

Dandelion looks down at his bloody self in surprise. “Oh, this? I slipped on something—well, _someone_ —on my way in. I fell on my face behind a desk. Heard a boom and people running past before I got to my feet. I guess I really am lucky. But you—that explosion?”

“I am intact.”

“There’s a cut on your cheek…”

I touch it. “Mattress spring. It is not fatal.”

Dandelion flings himself at me. I do not dodge, despite the gory smears all down his front, because Dandelion hugs are warm and fluffy and good, and because he is crying.

“I thought you’d died,” he says, “and it’d be my stupid fault for getting close…”

I borrow one of his hands and press it over my still-functioning heart by way of disproof.

“I couldn’t. I just couldn’t, if… not you too. Everyone else… anyone but you.”

I squeeze him more tightly.

Dandelion throws his head back abruptly and laughs, more hysterically than he has since that one time I began a sentence with “Speaking as an Ultimate Princess”. He stops just as suddenly and buries his face in my neck again.

He says, “Like an idiot, I convinced myself nothing could hurt you in here.”

“That in fact was the case,” I point out.

“It nearly wasn’t! If I’d just kept my distance I could have protected you—”

A lot of what Dandelion says and does only makes sense if you know he is desperately trying to keep the balance in an invisible ledger, terrified by the knowledge that any mistake he makes will cost somebody else.

“You’re doing a fine job of wrapping me in cotton wool now,” I say.

“Oh. Sorry.” He shifts his fluffy hair out of my face.

“You needn’t ever be sorry for hugs.” The Ultimate Nurse, Medical Student, Physical Therapist and friends hold his shoulders for a moment so we can scan him more closely. Painful, bruise-like rings under his eyes. Weakness and unsteadiness that he is trying to hide. His colouring has marginally improved. He is borderline dehydrated. He is rumpled, distressed and covered in blood.

Still perfect.

“Have you eaten today?” I ask.

“Mm. Kept some rice down.”

“An improvement. Oily fish too, when you can. And what are you doing out of bed once again? I distinctly remember telling you last time.”

“Always trying to get me into bed, Izuru.” Dandelion holds up his pretty smile as if it will shield against impending lectures. “I _was_ resting all day, but this was too important and… oh! Important!”

He smacks a fist into his forehead. It makes him wince. My hands twitch minutely. He is too weak to be roaming the campus.

He says, “With all of this mess I forgot why I even came. Our classmate is missing. We’re out in groups looking for him. I told them I’d… well, I’d see if you wanted to help, but, I mean, you just escaped death and everyone on the project was murdered, so wandering around after a stranger is going to be the last thing on your mind, of course. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is he of significance to you?”

“Um… what?”

“This classmate. Do you care about him?”

“Of course! He’s an Ultimate! And besides, he’s part of our… well, I guess we’ve never actually met him, but it _feels_ like we’ve known him for two years… so yes?”

“Then, Dandelion, if it’s something you care about, you need only ask.”

“O-oh. Izuru.” He stares at me like an owlpanda and nearly starts crying again.

It is harder than it ought to be to refuse Dandelion anything. Besides, if I assist with this then I can tuck him back into bed sooner.

“Just give me time to assess this situation first.” I pat his shoulder, take his hand and set off toward the carnage.

My teachers lie sprawled in their own blood, most of them dead from a combat knife to the throat, two of them shot with a handgun. It is clear they had no warning of the attack. One appears to have been trying to reach that ridiculous water cannon at the time he was taken down. That thing was a white elephant from the outset.

Dandelion slips away to look down at one of them. “Poor Professor Ito. What a loss.”

“That one insulted you 36 times to your face and 65 times when he thought he was out of earshot.”

“But he’s the former Ultimate Neurosurgeon! His skills were unmatched… wait, were you keeping count? But I didn’t mind or anything, Izuru. I count myself _lucky_ that someone so talented would bother verbally abusing trash li—”

“If you want to be lectured, keep saying what you’re saying.”

He pouts, but reconsiders his words. “But he did have plenty of reason to resent me. I was never exactly, you know. Welcome here.”

“His annoyance found a focus in you, a visual reminder of his lack of control over his subject.”

“So you do understand.”

“Predict, not grok.” Our private shorthand for _I can model and explain this behaviour, but I still find it baffling that people are this way_. 7 I pause by the body of Gentoo. “Now this one I will miss.”

“Um, Izuru, you know she was talentless?”

I do not respond to that. Instead, I check her pockets and bag without success, and mutter “I need Vaseline.”

“What, _now?_ ” Dandelion chokes.

“Yes. They will get more chapped without it.”

“Huh?” Dandelion puts a hand to his dry, cracked lips. “...oh. Right.”

I succeed in digging some chapstick out of Gentoo’s untidy desk and apply it for him. His skin is oddly flushed, which at least suggests his circulation is improving.

I glance around my dead teachers’ workspace once more and nod to Dandelion. “I want to take all their research before anyone comes in to do damage control, but that can wait until after your classmate. Although I do wonder what they did with that painting of you.”

“Oh. That, um. Might have made its way to my dorm room.” Dandelion, following me out, looks coyly at his fingernails.

“Good. It’s yours if you want it. Nothing else matters.” I make the outer door as secure as its inadequate design allows and then turn to him. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 Grok means “deeply understand, internalise”. It’s a bit of a nerdy term coined in 1961. People make Izuru feel rather like a stranger in a strange land.


	9. Day 16, 23:51

#### Day 16, 23:51

In the distance, three students wait under one of the campus streetlights.

Dandelion checks my tie, which is straight but stiffened by dried blood, and brushes my hair behind my ear. Ah, so he wants them to like me.

“Be warned, some of them get a little loud,” he whispers as we head towards them. “And they call me by my given name, just so you know.”

“Should I, also?” I whisper back.

“Please don’t. You’re the first person who ever gave me a nickname. Well, one that wasn’t an insult.”

“Be prepared for them to think I am weird.”

“Then we’d have one thing in common. Sharing something with Izuru! How exciting!”

I shake my head.

“Hey Nagito, this the guy?” calls one of the students.

Dandelion, after a gulp only I hear, plasters on his smile. “Yeah… this is him.”

As we step into the cone of the streetlight, all three of them recoil.

“Don’t worry, the blood isn’t ours,” I say, because it is good to open with something memorable.

“We didn’t spill it, either,” Dandelion adds hastily.

“Uh, good?” says one.

These are significant people to Dandelion, especially going by how much he tends to talk about them, which means I should make an effort to distinguish them. I start privately assigning nicknames.8

“Mahiru, Kazuichi, Teruteru,” says Dandelion, “this is Izuru Kamukura.”

“Oh _my_ ,” says the one I am calling Gopher.

“What’s up, Fakey McFakename?”9 says the one I am calling Flamingo.

“Given name, no relation,” I say.

“Izuru’s title is Ultimate Hope,” Dandelion almost croons.

The one I am calling Shutter covers a grin with her hand. “Jeez, Nagito.”

“No friggin’ wonder,” says Flamingo.

“So savoury…” says Gopher. He attempts to touch me. I evade. We repeat this several times. “Tell me, Nagito, is your friend… available?”

“Available for what?” I ask. “At the moment I’m here to help you search.”

“Ah, what I mean…”

“He means are you two fuckin’,” Flamingo puts in. Shutter punches his arm. He gives out a confused “ow”.

Dandelion, after a near miss with choking, splutters “Don’t insult Izuru! He would never lower himself to… with someone like me…!”

“I wouldn’t have objected, but he has never seemed interested in that with me,” I say.

Dandelion freezes. “ _Huh?_ ” he says.

“Oh dear…” says Shutter, who seems to be trying hard not to laugh. Flamingo is not even trying, but openly cackling. Gopher is dabbing at some blood under his nose.

“ _Huh huh huh huh HUH?_ ” says Dandelion, who has apparently forgotten how to close his mouth.

“Nice job breaking him, Izuru,” Flamingo sniggers. He attempts to slap me on the back. I evade out of reflex.

“Was I wrong?” I ask Dandelion. His entire reaction really has not been what I expected.

“Huuuhnggh… no, no, you’re… amazing…” He shakes off his daze and attaches himself to my side. “Sorry, Teruteru, he’s taken, and I _will_ be watching you.”

“Mmhmm, that is a shame. So pure… delicate as rosewater in Turkish delight…”

Given that I have red eyes and dark clothing and an impassive face and am stained with blood, I assume Gopher is not talking about me.

“Although I do not want to know why someone saw fit to include Ultimate Escort among my talents, nevertheless those skills are at your disposal if you… really want them,” I tell a clinging Dandelion, who starts spluttering again. Gopher, however, gives me a dirty look, which means I have said something wrong.

“Guys, shut up a minute!” Shutter, who has taken out her phone, has a stricken expression. “This is bad! Listen: ‘Killer at Hope’s Peak!’—‘Entire student council murdered’—‘Hope’s Peak is knowingly harbouring a murderer!’—‘Look where our Reserve Course fees are going. Protest tomorrow!’ People are going wild on social media!”

“Ryota…?” Flamingo clutches at his hat with both hands.

“But… he is not a member of the student council…” says Gopher.

“I’m telling the others!” says Shutter, her thumbs moving rapidly.

Dandelion takes out his phone too. “I’m so stupid. I muted it out of habit when I went to Izuru’s…”

I look over his shoulder while he scrolls back up.

`KonamiCoed: Team Aran here. Nothing in the dorms. Other teams check in, please.`  
`RyotaMitaraii: Team Blaze here. He is nowhere around the track or changing rooms.`  
`SunniGummi: i said otaku nerds wouldnt come here if u paid them`  
`KonamiCoed: Team Chell? You said Nagito ran off somewhere?`  
`Mahiru: He’s back. He brought his secret boyfriend to he`  
`Mahiru: WAIT`  
`Mahiru: GUYS LOOK THIS IS BAD`  
`*Mahiru has shared a link. Click to view.`  
`RyotaMitaraii: What.`  
`Lord_of_Ice: What madness is this!`  
`Fuckyuhiko: the absolute fuck? The whole council?`  
`CoachNeko: shit! those poor kids!`  
`RyotaMitaraii: If Ryota was caught up in this I’ll-!`  
`Mahiru: GUYS`  
`Mahiru: Meet up to discuss?`  
`KonamiCoed: Yes`  
`KonamiCoed: Central fountain`  
`KonamiCoed: Otw`

“Come on.” Shutter sets us off at a fast walk. The campus after dark is well known to me, so I easily keep up and have time to glance at Dandelion’s phone screen every now and then.

`SunniGummi: mahiru did u say shaggytoe has a bf`  
`Mahiru: Yes`  
`SunniGummi: bs`  
`SunniGummi: nobody would hit that`  
`SunniGummi: is he hot`  
`Mahiru: If you like vampires.`  
`SunniGummi: g r o s s`  
`SunniGummi: gross like naggyho i ship them already`  
`*One participant has liked this message: lucky77.`  
`SoniaNevermind: I am happy for Nagito, but…`  
`SoniaNevermind: Important messages only, please?`  
`SodaJerkoff: miss sonia please be careful walking and typing!!`  
`SodaJerkoff: wait did hiyoko change my name again??`  
`SunniGummi: nooooo ^___^`  
`SoniaNevermind: What did I just say?`  
`SodaJerkoff: srry miss sonia`  
`SunniGummi: sry`

Dandelion takes a last look at his screen then puts it away. “Um, so,” he says, pitched so the others, walking a few steps ahead, will not hear.

“Yes?” I reply, similarly.

“I know we’ve never really talked a… about our feelings, but…”

We have discussed emotions plenty of times. He has helped me put names to several of mine. He must mean something more specific. I tilt my head to encourage him to continue.

“Are you telling me that… all I needed to do was _ask?_ ”

A straightforward question, at least. “All you need do for _anything in the world_ is ask.”

“Ha…” I can feel heat coming off his face. Very quietly, “Marry me.”

I do not know if he wanted me to hear that, but: “I will get it legalised by the time you turn twenty10.”

“Haha, how disgustingly insolent for scum like me to even dream—wait, that wasn’t a no?”

“Would you prefer it to be?”

Staring at me, he slowly shakes his head.

I put an arm around him, pull him close and nuzzle his fluff. “Dandelion, if that will make you happy, then we will make it happen.”

He is quiet the rest of the way except for periodic wheezing. His face is very warm.

Five more students are waiting when we reach the fountain. I prepare myself for more time-consuming introductions—

FLUFFIES!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 Hope’s Peak Academy Fluffiness Committee apologises once again for our narrating character and his quirks.
> 
> 9 I have to think it would be weird to meet someone calling themself after your school’s revered dead founder.
> 
> 10 Twenty being the legal marriage age in Japan if you can’t obtain parental consent, which would be difficult for both of them.


	10. Day 17, 00:fluffy

#### Day 17, 00:fluffy

(“Aaaand I think we’ve lost him.”  
“Izuru is cheating on me…”  
“I’m just surprised the little shits haven’t bitten him.”  
“Foolish mortal, you think my Generals would not recognise a high-level warlock by his aura alone?”)

“Dandelion, look!” I say. “They’re so fluffy-wuffy! Like you!”

“Yes, Izuru, I see that,” Dandelion says. His eyes are soft, warm and shining.

I snuggle Supernova Silver Fox San-D against my cheek again. We are a little away from the fountain so that its noise does not bother the eleven additional hamsters variously sitting on my shoulders and exploring my hair. I am pretty sure this feeling is happiness.

(“I can’t believe I was scared of this guy.”  
“What’d he just call Nagito?”  
“They have pet names for each other? What dorks.”  
“…finally looks animated for once and it’s over goddamn hamsters…”  
“Please be kind. He's never met animals before.”  
“Have those things bred? There’s more than I remember.”  
“Akane, eat the rats so we can get going.”  
“Team A aren’t even here yet.”)

“Please do not eat the Twelve Zodiac Generals,” I say, then I add “foolish mortal” because I like how it sounds.

(“Oh my god, Tanaka’s infecting him.”  
“Dorks of a feather dork together.”  
“So, uh, Izuru, how exactly do you know Nagito again?”)

Wait, that last one was addressed to me. I let San-D run up my arm, then I reply, “He is my favourite toy.”

Shutter is displeased. “Hey! You can’t talk about people like that! Even boys.”

“Uh, no, no, it’s fine,” Dandelion pacifies with haste. “Izuru’s sense of humour is… dry doesn’t cover it. Anyway, it was actually me who started the whole ‘toy’ thing.”

(“Sounds like Nagito.”  
“Anything weird sounds like Naggyho.”  
“I don’t get it.”  
“Kinky…”  
“Have you _seen_ Izuru right now? I don’t think he knows what kinky _is_.”)

“You’re making no sense, Nagito.”

“Sorry, Mahiru; I’m telling it all backwards like the waste of space I am…”

I cough.

“Sorry. What I mean is, d’you remember the finals last year?”

“I don’t think anyone is going to forget last year’s finals,” Shutter says.

“Well, as you may or may not know, the school believed I was involved…”

“Could be because you were,” Gummi puts in, to general agreement.

“If that’s what you Ultimates have decided, it’s not my place to contradict you. Anyway, they told me I could either be suspended for six months or agree to be confined to my dorm at all times when not attending class, so of course I chose the second one—it’s not as if I have anything worthwhile to do with my time anyway, so it was very generous of them! The six months were almost up by the time I got a little stir crazy, and I’d talked to Miss Chisa—actually, that part’s not important. I decided completely on my own that I’d explore the campus a little. It was forbidden, but as long as I stayed out of people’s way I thought it wouldn’t do any harm, right? It just happened that one lunch period, I went for a walk, stumbled through a door that was normally locked and overheard a fascinating conversation.”

I have not heard this story told to others before, so I am interested. I purse my lips, squeak something roughly translatable as “time to go to daddy” and point an arm towards Purveyor of Fluffies. All twelve Zodiac Generals scurry along it, leap from my finger and burrow into his scarf. My objective assessment as an Ultimate Animal Behaviourist, Trainer and Breeder is that they are the cleverest fluffy-wuffy babies ever.

“…having trouble controlling the results of some experiment or other and they were panicking about it. Then someone mentioned the words ‘Ultimate Hope’, and I could hardly leave after that! So I stayed to listen some more and surmised that this Ultimate Hope was an actual _person_ they’d created, one with every known talent. Then one of them caught me.” Dandelion does not stop smiling. “They were pretty annoyed! But I talked them into letting me see him, just in case my pathetic talent could be any help. I’d already heard too much, so they must’ve figured they hadn’t much to lose at that point. So they shoved me into his cell and locked the door. I was expecting an _artificial_ hope to feel distasteful and false, but when I saw him…”

He pauses and gazes at me a moment, with all the awe of that first time undulled by familiarity.

“He was so… he was almost blinding. I’d imagined being shot through the heart plenty of times, but I never thought it would be so gentle or hurt so much. Facing such _beauty_ , anything I’d planned to say just disappeared. So I trusted my luck and said the first thing that came into my head, like I normally do! I told him I was his toy and was there for his entertainment, and then I just sat there on the floor and let him get used to me.”

(“Did he just admit he imagines being _shot_ …”  
“It’s _Nagito_. Are you honestly surprised?”  
“So what? I imagine shooting Naggyho all the time.”  
“I think I finally get why he always says such weird shit.”)

“It didn’t matter what anyone else said. From the beginning I saw who he really was. The formal speech, the gentle manner… hesitant and sweet…”

“Mostly I was curious about what kind of person would choose to introduce himself in that way. Also, you were fluffy.” Why do people feel the need to call me sweet?

“…not the type to put on a friendly smile, but behind that forbidding appearance, I sensed nothing but pure light. I could never worthily convey it… it was the feeling of something brand new, just begun. I could happily have died then and there!” He laughs.

“I don’t think I would have enjoyed that.”

“Instead, somewhere in between him asking if he could touch my hair and asking if he could hug me, I decided I’d done the right thing. He wasn’t irrational or violent or any of the things they’d said. He’s _completely_ logical, just following a different set of premises from other people.”

“I am pretty sure I’m just weird,” I inform the others.

“Sometimes I think it’s only Izuru who’s normal. The only thing he needed was someone to give him a little time, make the effort to understand him, and…” Increased sheen to his eyes. Almost imperceptible tremor in his voice. “It’s not like that’s something I couldn’t relate to. And he called me _pretty_ , and… nobody had ever complimented…”

“You are the prettiest thing in any possible iteration of any possible universe,” I say.

Dandelion makes an interesting noise and turns an interesting colour.

“Do you guys need to get a room?” asks Gummi.

“We came here from mine, but it blew up a bit.”

“Because you said something gay and Naggy exploded?”

“No, because of a grenade.”

“ _Anyway_ , even though the project staff think I’m an annoying stain, which I am, Izuru only cooperates with them if I’m there, so they have to let me keep visiting. So that’s how I got the begrudged position of cuddle buddy to the Ultimate Hope. Lucky doesn’t begin to describe it!” Dandelion’s smile could light up an entire stage.

“Of course, now they’ve all been murdered, there’s nobody to object to you anyway,” I say.

“Well, there is that. Maybe that was good luck after all.”

“Whoa, whoa,” says the one I am calling Pinstripe. “Who got iced? These scientists? Is that where the blood’s from?”

Dandelion nods. “It was earlier tonight. I think Izuru was the real target, but the Ultimate Hope would never fall victim to such a cowardly attack,” he says, rather hypocritically so soon after he was afraid I had done just that.

“This means there were two lots of killings in one night?” Pinstripe presses.

“I would be interested to see the scene of the other one,” I say. “The culprits may very well be the same.”

“This murderer they’re talkin’ about online?”

“Maybe,” I say. But I have other suspicions.

The one I have nicknamed Badger, noticing as I did a while ago that there are more people approaching, perks up, waves both muscular arms and yells over the fountain’s thrum: “That you, Team Aran? Over here!”

Yet more introductions come jogging toward us.

I catch sight of one of the figures. I go still. My peripheral vision collapses.

“Sorry… hah… we stopped by… hah… Mikan’s room again to check, but… hah. She still isn’t there or answering her phone,” _she_ says.

 _She_ straightens up, having caught _her_ breath, and glances over us all.

 _Her_ eyes snap back to me, and _she_ asks in a small voice, “H-Hajime?”

My chest hurts.

“I’m afraid not,” I say as gently as I can.

All around us is silence and falling water.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I say. “It was outside my control.”

 _She_ walks torpidly up to me and reaches for my face. I flinch away, then inwardly scold myself for it. _She_ does not try again. My chest hurts.

“What happened?” _she_ asks, almost inaudibly.

The others have begun whispering.

“He volunteered for an experiment,” I say. “The goal was the creation of talent. They erased his mind in the course of it and, eventually, I was the result.” I do not want to go into more detail. It is not the time.

“Talent…” _she_ echoes. “Talent. Oh, Hajime.”

Shutter rushes over, arms open wide. For ten seconds _she_ clings to her, face hidden.

Then Chiaki stands up straight, turns to the rest of the group, and says “All right. Now we’re all here, we should decide what to do about the student council.” The look in her rose pink eyes forestalls any argument.

Dandelion materialises at my side. His eyes flicker between Chiaki and me, and his expression is unreadable to anyone who does not know him well. He lacks the full picture—he was never interested in hearing about Hajime—but Dandelion is far from stupid.

“It will be all right,” I tell him. It will be, however long it takes for me to make it so.

Most of the others have engaged in an animated discussion, but at this point I do not feel it is my place to join in unless specifically invited.

“I should have recognised you,” says Shutter, on my other side.

“This body has changed a lot, if you knew it before,” I say.

“I saw y… him a few times over at the Reserve Course, like half a year ago. I thought he was expelled or something.”

“Or something,” I say. My Ultimate Cook knowledge offers up sour, unripe apples as the nearest comparison for what I am feeling.

“Jeez. It hadn’t hit home for me before. Human experimentation. In my school.”

“I know. Isn’t it miraculous?” sighs Dandelion.

“Or something,” says Shutter.

The three of us stand there for a moment, alone together in our different places.

Presently, Pinstripe calls over. “You wanted to see the crime scene too, right, Izuru?”

“If that is acceptable to the rest of you.” I glance at Chiaki. The way the others respond to her, there is no doubt she is the leader.

“We should check if Ryota was there, I think,” she says. “Mikan too.”

Gummi comes to pull at Shutter’s sleeve, a gesture that would look more natural coming from a smaller girl, and the two put their heads together in front of a phone screen. Their expressions say it is something distressing. They have the sound off. “This is definitely the old building, look,” Shutter says, jabbing with a finger. “You don’t see the number on the classroom door or anything, but it could be one of the upper floors?”

Dandelion goes to look, as do others.

“Ahem,” someone says to me.

More introductions. Be likeable for Dandelion’s sake. I look over the new person. “Oh, you are a hermit crab,” I say. I feel a little less shrunken and sour inside. This one’s talent is subtly cosy.

I receive a wide grin. “That’s exactly what I am,” says the one I decide to call Crab. “And you, if I have it right, would be a newly-hatched butterfly.”

I think about it. “Maybe a tiger moth or another of the Arctiinae,” I say.

“Quite so. You are here to search for Ryota too?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know him.”

“I do not.”

“Well, just picture me, except overworked and undernourished. He remains stubbornly so despite my very best efforts to the contrary.” Crab shows me a photo. It is as described. “Why, may I ask, are you helping?”

From the way Crab looks at and talks about the face on screen, there is one optimal answer. “The one who is my Ryota wanted me to.”

“Oh, so it’s like that. You need say no more.” Crab glances at Dandelion. “I trust yours is less frustrating.”

“He has his moments. He is meant to be in bed recovering from serious medical treatment.”

We share a second’s quiet, exasperated understanding.

“Incidentally, as I have told the others, given that at present I am not strictly in character, you may refer to me using ‘they’ and ‘them’.”

That is interesting. I decide I like Crab, possibly even as much as Purveyor of Fluffies. And Chiaki… no, that is still too complicated to place on a scale.

I hope Dandelion will be pleased that I am making friends.


	11. Day 17, 01:33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dead bodies here, not nearly as disturbing as the things coming out of Dandelion’s mouth.

#### Day 17, 01:33

“First things first: group portrait!” Shutter orders, and herds us together under a streetlight with practised sheepdoggery. “Everyone smile.”

A second and a half later: “Izuru thumbs up, everyone else smile.”

I have been photographed before, but it was for experimental records. Not because someone desired a visual reminder of my existence. She barely knows me and still she did not think of leaving me out of shot.

The Photographer being satisfied, the others begin preparing to move on.

“Do we really have to do this? I mean, they’re probably fine, right? There’s no reason they’d be with the council when…” Flamingo is hoping someone will suggest an alternative plan.

“Rrragh, enough standin’ around!” The one I am calling Werewolf forces the issue by racing off in the direction of the old school building.

“Akane, slow d—!” Badger rushes after her.

The rest of us follow at more measured paces, one needing to be dragged.

I stay a short distance behind them all, Dandelion sticking close to me as always.

“Are we boyfriends?” I murmur to him.

“Huh? Ahaha, what a question all of a sudden.”

“Mahiru introduced me to the others as your boyfriend. You didn’t object.”

“Of course I wouldn’t _object!_ …Do you? It must be distasteful to be publically associated with an insect like me…”

I hold the school building’s door open for him. “‘Boyfriend’ is acceptable.”

“Haha. There’s that enthusiasm again.”

“Oh, should I be enthusiastic?” I grab him around the middle, yank him off his feet, and say “Yay!”

“I-Izuru, people are looking…”

I put him down again. He appears relieved, disappointed and a little sweaty.

“What things should I be doing, with you, as a boyfriend?” I ask him.

“Anything you want.”

“I am asking what is expected, or alternatively what will please you.”

“Anything. _Anything_ you do to me, I’ll cherish.”

I puff out air. He can be completely unhelpful when he chooses to be. “Oh yes? So if I wanted to cut off one of your hands, that would be fine, would it?”

And Dandelion gets a look in his eyes such as I have never seen. Copper sulphate burning. “God, yes. Cut it off, scorch it off, force me to eat it, ahahaha, kick me, drag me around on a collar and chain, order me to lick your shoes, berate me for my worthlessness, choke me, stab me through the chest…”

“Please stop.” My Ultimate Adventurer knowledge throws out the image of me standing alone atop a glacier among howling winds, which is factually incorrect but somehow does not seem far off the mark.

Dandelion is clutching at his upper arms and quivering when the sick light abruptly winks out of his eyes, leaving only disorientation. “S-sorry!” he chokes, and he seems about to run off before my arm around him pulls him against my side.

Valuable lessons have been learned about calling Dandelion’s bluff.

“Would it be all right if I just cuddle you instead of those things?”

“Y-yeah, that’s… that’s fine too, Izuru…” His head drops onto my shoulder.

Not his fault, I remind myself. His brain has been feasting on itself for years. It may have stopped now, but it will take all my care to repair the damage that is already there. An actual challenge for once…

Nevertheless, as soon as he is a little stronger, when he can climb stairs without his legs shaking as they are now, I will be dragging him to the Ultimate Therapist’s office whether he likes it or not. I will just have to hope that is proper boyfriend behaviour.

“I smell blood. Like, a lot,” says Werewolf from the floor above.

I smell it too. Blood, terror and desperation. And something else I have encountered once before.

I slip toward the front of the group, which stands paused as Werewolf unselfconsciously interrogates her nose.

“This might be bad. Nobody has to go any further if they don’t want to,” says Chiaki.

“I have to see it,” Shutter says. Her eyes and hands are screwed tightly closed.

“If Mahiru’s going… it can’t be much worse than bugs and mice, right…?” Gummi says. She is hugging herself with her long sleeves swaying.

“Actually,” I say, “the human body contains a great deal more blo—”

“Hiyoko, would you be kind enough to stay out here and keep me company?” Red Queen says loudly.

“I… okay, Sonia…”

“I’ll keep you company too, Miss Sonia,” Flamingo quivers.

“I’m going.” Crab shoulders Werewolf aside and strides ahead. She follows, complaining.

The scene further into the corridor is gory. Through the relevant classroom door, it is a slaughterhouse. Dandelion lets out a quiet “ugh”, but his eyes are darting, cataloguing, before everyone else who chose to look has stopped expressing their shock.

Ultimate Nurse and Ultimate Soldier momentarily fuse into a makeshift Ultimate Combat Medic, but even I have no chance of saving the people lying here. They are long dead by a chaotic assortment of wounds; pistol, shovel, hammer, scissors, kunai, chainsaw, and more.

I step lightly around splatters and gobbets. I feel fully engaged for once. The sequence of events is intricate enough, as I reconstruct it in my mind’s eye, that I do not feel the need to make up arbitrary rules to make things harder for myself.

_…this one is shot; a pause, then this one, clutching his shotgun, backs into a sword held by…_

The way it all happened unfolds around me; a dance without grace or coordination, to the beat of despair.

Thank you, Analyst, for this unwitting gift.

(“Thank god. Ryota isn’t here.”  
“No Mikan, either…”  
“Stay outside, Ibuki, you don’t want to see this…”  
“This is nothing like it is on album covers…”  
“Friggin’ gross is what it is.”  
“The smell, I… I have to leave…”)

And then it is done. Solved, analysed, understood. Too soon. Probably I should have kept one eye closed after all.

Pinstripe clears his throat. “Well, as Valentine’s Day as this all is, and I’m glad our two aren’t layin’ dead in here, I don’t see what this tells us. Other than someone was able to do in the entire council.”

I glance round from where I am extracting a bullet from the wall with my multitool. “But these people killed each other.”

“ _What?_ ”

Now everyone is staring at me. Have they not been looking at the same scene I have?

“Are you saying—why would anyone do that?”

“Doubtless they had encouragement.”

“Bullshit.”

“It is the truth.” My forehead creases. “Ultimate Detective,” I add apologetically.

Dandelion looks up from the bloodstained sheet music he and Crab have been examining. “You’re incredible, Izuru!” he chirps. “Only the most shining symbol of hope would be able to sift the truth from such a perplexing—”

“I _know_ you are capable of reaching the same conclusion,” I say. I include an undercurrent of pleading because this is ridiculous.

“Weeeellll…” He touches his chin. “I did think there was something strange about the positions of the bodies, the assortment of weapons, the way the injuries varied in accuracy and severity…” He looks up again and says brightly, “But I just assumed any clue that would be noticed by a wretched thing like me must be wrong or unimportant, or both! Probably both.”

“Fucking hell,” says Pinstripe, to general agreement.

Pinstripe. He is closest so he will do. I beckon him to one side of the reddened room.

“Is Dand—Nagito always like this around all of you?” I quietly ask, with my eyes fixed on the pair of heads (one fluffy, one not) bent over the music sheet.

“Yeah, well, that’s just Komae—Nagito, isn’t it,” Pinstripe says.

“No, it really isn’t,” I say, feeling slightly lost. Or maybe it is, but it is not _Dandelion_.

“For real? What’s he like around you?”

“Less frantic. More at peace.” Clearly Dandelion has been leaving much more than his wallet and phone outside the lab door. If he is this keyed up all day, every day, no wonder he sleeps so deeply in my arms.

“I guess you’re good for him then. But… look, he hasn’t been fillin’ _you_ with weird ideas, has he?”

“You mean, do I long to see _the brightest of hopes that will defeat any despair_?” I borrow Dandelion’s breathy, artless delivery.

Pinstripe snorts. “Let’s go with that.”

“What you should understand, in my case…” I ease a stray long hair out of my face. “I was created to _be_ that hope, and my creators never let me forget it. I don’t mind hearing it from Dandelion, knowing that that belief was all he had to sustain him for so long. But otherwise, the constant lectures from my teachers about my duties as Ultimate Hope, when they were not berating me for conduct unbecoming… it has rather soured me on that entire false dichotomy. I am more interested in fluffiness. Fluffiness, unlike talent, is an absolute good.”

“All he had…?” echoes Pinstripe.

I am pleased that that was the part he latched on to, because I enjoy talking about Dandelion as much as I do animals, space, memetics and fluffiness in general. I will not, though, give away anything he has chosen not to. This is a skill I am practising, called ‘tact’. “That is up to him to tell you about, if he wants.”

“You know, I’ve just realised—for the amount he talks, he hasn’t really ever said much of anything about himself. Other than put-downs and hopey shit.”

“Possibly he has not been asked.” I could be a lot more pointed. I refrain. I am giving Pinstripe a chance.

“…Fuck. I hate it when people judge me before getting to know me, and what do I go ahead and do?”

“Dandelion is quite forgiving.” Pinstripe has pleased me, so I offer that comfort. “After all, he puts up with a lot from me without ever complaining.”

“Oh yeah? What, d’you turn into an eldritch horror at midnight?” He sniggers, but he probably would not be entirely surprised if I really did.

“I am clingy. I am tactless. I repeat sounds I like. I sulk when people are stupid. I am generally weird.”

“Ha, no offence, but you’re not. I mean, for a normie, whatever, but among Ultimates? You’re about in line with the rest of us.”

“You are not aware how much effort it is costing me to appear so.” This is not Pinstripe’s fault. It is, after all, the entire point. At some point later I will have to repay everything I am borrowing, by going somewhere quiet and holding something fluffy; for at least a few more hours, though, I am enduring, weird only to a socially acceptable degree, and being friendly like Dandelion wishes. Also, I have not thrown anybody across a room for _days_.

“Izuru?” calls Shutter as soon as she sees the lull in our conversation. She presses in close to the two of us, but does not touch me, which is good. She is pale, trembling, and in rigid control of herself. “Was all of this—did someone really make them kill each other?”

“Yes.”

“And you can tell that? I mean, would other people be able to tell that, just from looking at the scene?”

I think about that. I have had to recalibrate certain assumptions about what other people can tell. “I believe so, if they have relevant expertise or if someone else points out the clues.”

There is embarrassed muttering from Pinstripe.

“Thank you. I know what I have to do,” Shutter says. Her fingers are white where they grip her camera.

“Haven’t you freaks seen enough yet?” calls Gummi from outside.

Those of us with the strong stomachs rejoin the rest, some distance along the corridor, and share our findings. The truth of the scene is met with disbelief, fear and distress. And in the middle of that:

“I’m staying behind. I-I’m staying here,” Shutter announces.

Arguments, incredulity, most loudly from Gummi.

“No, listen,” says Shutter. “I’m not really good at searching. If Ryota’s in danger I can’t fight to save him. But this, right here? If these students really were made to kill each other, then people are being _lied to_. And that, I can stop.”

“Mahiru…” whines Gummi.

“No. There’s something my mother says to me when she reports on a tragedy. _‘People need to know what happened here.’_ I finally understand how she feels. Everyone who’s ranting online, writing to the school, organising protests… it’s all based on a lie. And that lie needs to die, and I have to kill it.” She holds up her camera and it is a weapon loaded with truth 11.

“Then… I’m staying with you,” Gummi says, and she marches herself to Shutter’s side with her lower lip jutting forward.

Crab and Chiaki glance at each other and nod. Each pats one of the girls on the shoulder.

“Call us or post in chat if you need help,” says Chiaki.

Shutter nods like a salute, then she turns her back and advances on the death room, weapon at the ready and friend close behind her.

“Amazing,” says Dandelion, watching them go. “How like the Ultimate Photogra…”

“Nagito, don’t make it weird,” interrupts Pinstripe with a sigh.

“Sorry. Just… I admire her, that’s all.”

Pinstripe softens and nods to him. “Good. Next time just say that.”

“What now, then?” demands Werewolf, jamming a finger in her ear and waggling it around.

“Well, what more have we learned?” asks Crab. “This tragedy was orchestrated, we think, but by whom?”

“Ah.” I take half a step forward. “At this point I should tell you about the girls I had in my room.”

“ _What_ ,” says Dandelion, chopping the ‘t’ like an axe blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 Loaded for bear, you could say.


	12. Day 17, 02:42

#### Day 17, 02:42

Descriptions of the sisters are made easier thanks on one hand to Crab’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the junior class (the others give them strange looks for this until Crab points out “It’s my job”; after all, a mimic requires people to mimic), and on the other to the fluffier sister apparently being well known as a clothing model.

Dandelion pretends to sulk about “Izuru cheating on me” until I get to the sisters’ despair-fuelled world takeover idea, from which point he is transfixed.

“If these people have Ryota, I think I may know what they want with him,” says Crab, with their chin on their fist in concentrated thought. “His greatest goal is to spread hope through his animations. He talks of little else. So if someone were to coerce him into the opposite…”

“Would you please characterise Ryota’s preferred workspace?” I ask them.

“Well, his dormitory, but he is definitely not there.”

“What I mean is, how does he prefer to work? For example, does he insist on an open window, does he keep the lights on or off, or has he any other requirements?”

“I see what you mean.” Crab flashes a rare smile. “No, I’m afraid he would happily work in a hole in the ground so long as it had Retas Studio installed. He has a multiple-monitor setup and works sitting down, but even those are probably not hard-and-fast rules. He does complain if there are distractions, but then again, when he is in a flow state I have known him fail to notice fire alarms.”

I nod. “So, reliable electricity supply, minimal space for a computer desk and breathable atmosphere, but that is all we can be reasonably sure of.”

Chiaki hums. “That could be anywhere… on campus or off…” 

“If for now we suppose they have based themselves on campus in order to take advantage of the school’s resources, covering every possible place will still take a long time. At this point, do you wish to continue the search?” If they call it off, I can get Dandelion to bed.

They all want to continue, predictably.

“Right, then,” Chiaki says. “Three groups is too few. I think… we should pair off and assign areas.” She pulls out a tablet from her backpack, finds a campus map and proceeds to do just that while the others organise partners.

“Hey, you got a phone?” Pinstripe asks me.

“No.”

“Here, then, take mine. Peko can cover us both.”

“Dandelion has a phone.”

“…Yeah. I’d prefer if someone other than him did too.” I am still deciding whether or not to count this as a slight against my boyfriend when Pinstripe finishes tapping at his phone and drops it into my hands. “You do, like, know how to use this, right?” he says.

“I’ll manage,” say the Ultimate Programmer, Social Media Maven, Personal Assistant, Hacker and company. “Thank you.”

I improve his security software for him while Chiaki administrates search areas and then admonishes everyone to call for help _and_ wait for it to arrive before charging into anything. (She makes Werewolf and Badger repeat this back to her.)

The other pairs—and one trio, consisting of Flamingo and Purveyor of Fluffies glaring at each other behind Red Queen’s back—set off.

I hang back to speak with Chiaki. “I notice you did not assign Dandelion and me a sector.”

She nods. “I didn’t forget you or anything. Actually, I thought… you might do better if I ask you to just wander around on impulse?”

Dandelion perks up. “Making use of my luck? How devious and brilliant, Chiaki. Truly, you must strike terror into criminals every time you play a detective game.”

“Mmm…” She looks at us for an uncomfortable moment, me standing motionless and expressionless, Dandelion unselfconsciously resting his head on my shoulder and toying with a strand of my hair, then with a little wave and heartbreaking smile she is gone.

After a moment, Dandelion pulls at my arm. I take his hand and we descend. Past the infirmary, through the entrance hall and outside. We share an unspoken hunch that this building is not where we should be. We start to wander, paying deliberate inattention to where we are going. This is easy when one’s boyfriend is distractingly pretty.

Dandelion goes from lacing and unlacing his fingers with mine, through swinging our arms in a sweeping arc, to lifting my hand and brushing his damaged lips over each knuckle in turn, before he finally comes out with it. “Izuru… you didn’t tell me about this Junko because you were thinking about it, weren’t you?”

“I think about everything.”

“Ah. Well, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I think about _everything_. I considered every outcome, traced the lines of dominoes forward and back with every branching choice. And, Dandy, the single factor that never cancelled out was how hurt you would be if I threw in with a group calling itself Ultimate Despair.”

“Probably.” There is a pause. “Wait, are you saying that was your reason not to? _Me?_ ”

You are always my reason, I think but do not say.

“But if you’d let her break you out, wouldn’t that be exactly what you talk about? Being free of the project? Owning your destiny? If I stood in the way of everything you want, I’ll want to die of self-loathing.”

There is something going on that he is not saying, some wheels turning beneath all that fluff, but I ignore it for now because what he is saying on the surface is important too. “Her motives were not altruistic, but that was not the main issue. Even if she could deliver everything I wanted, expecting me to be happy when you are sad is paradoxical. It would not work.”

“Izuruuuu.” His circulation is definitely improving. Perhaps I should make him blush more often to exercise his capillaries. (That was a joke. Anatomy does not work that way. I still feel an impulse to do it, though.) “I can’t tell if that’s good or terrible, but either way, you have to stop making me feel this good. It’s hazardous to your health.”

“Your luck again?” Life has conditioned Dandelion to associate happiness with terrible things. His talent is particularly cruel.

“Mmm.” He flinches beneath some distressing thought and shakes it away with a swish of fluff.

“Don’t worry about it, please. Remember whose luck is dominant.”

His eyes fix on me. “D-dominant…”

“Yes. You know, the way my luck overpowers yours and holds it down. Are you in pain? Your breathing is speeding up.”

“I’m fine. Just enjoying your word choice.”

I thought I was speaking plainly. He says some strange things. “All I mean is that you needn’t worry so long as we are proximal. That said, you must let me teach you how to control yours yourself, so that you are not always bound to my side.”

“Bound… by Izuru… hah… hah…”

“Are you really all right? You’re drooling.”

“…hah… what? No. I mean yes.” He wipes at his mouth. “I mean… being near you isn’t something I get tired of. It’s everything I want.”

“I want it too, but it must be out of choice, not necessity. If you cannot freely leave me, you cannot freely stay with me either. I would be exploiting you and that is unforgivable.”

“You’re being sweet again,” he says with that coruscating smile. It is plain as paper that Dandelion has no intention of learning any measure of control over his luck. He plans to fail at it and then be ‘forced’ to stay with me. Ah well. If he can get away with that under the nose of an Ultimate Teacher, Team Manager, Psychologist and luck expert, which I doubt, then he deserves to get whatever he wants.

Still, one thing cannot be tolerated. “I am not sweet,” I tell him. He giggles behind his free hand. “I am _not_. I am bossy and territorial and defending what I value. After all… you are precious. Your hopes, your feelings, your entire existence is precious to me.”

“Izu—!” He yanks his other hand deftly out of mine so he can hide his face, which is now bright red. I feel some satisfaction over this. After all, he was planning mischief, so he can consider this pre-emptive retaliation.

I am about to say further unsweet things and see if he turns any redder when two chat applications chime as one.

`CoachNeko: WE FOUND MIKAN!`  
`CoachNeko: and she says she found something! everyone regroup!`


	13. Day 17, 03:18

#### Day 17, 03:18

`*ILikeFluff has shared GPS coordinates. Click to view.`  
`ILikeFluff: Our current position.`  
`ILikeFluff: …This username is appropriate.`  
`Pekoyama: Fuyuhiko says you’re welcome.`

It happens, not entirely surprisingly, that our current position is both closest to Badger and Werewolf’s and located in the direction they are heading, so we wait where we are.

I put Dandelion on a bench to rest. As soon as I turn my back, he is on his feet again and wandering around. I let him.

I drift a little way away from the electric circle of light. I stare at night-time leaves, map their texture, then touch to confirm it. Sleepy botanical scents reach out to me unhurriedly.

Behind me, there is a snap, a hiss, a gasp and a fizz. Dandelion has opened one of his seemingly endless supply of soft drinks. The drink, misbehaving, has sprayed in his face and spilled all over the path.

He steps out of the puddle, shakes off his feet and gives me a sheepish grin. “Probably lucky. I hate this stuff.” He sips at the small amount remaining. I am glad he is taking in calories, even nutritionless ones. I would still prefer him to be resting.

“…j-just the f-four of us could go, we d-don’t need to wait f-for everyone else, they c-can catch up…” Unfamiliar voice. Obviously the Nurse.

She comes into view at a fast walk, with Werewolf, Badger and Gopher trailing behind her and trying to persuade her to wait.

There is a problem. I cannot assign this one a nickname.

The Nurse reluctantly stops only when she sees Dandelion and me heading to meet her.

“Mikan, I’m glad you’re ok! We missed you on Team C.”

“Oh, N-Nagito… I-I’m so sorry I was late! I w-was w-with a p-patient and I t-took too long and I m-made people w-w-worryyyy!” The Nurse makes a smooth gear change from almost-crying to crying.

“Dandelion…” I murmur.

“Nice going, Nagito, you set her off again.”

“Now, Mikan, please don’t cry! Not because of a nobody like me!”

“Dandelion…” I touch his hand in an attempt to halt the feedback loop of self-deprecation before it gets going. “Why is she…?”

“Don’t worry, Izuru. It’s just Mikan. I’ve told you about her plenty of times, remember?”

The crying is wearing at me. I try to articulate the problem. “You never told me she was a rotting melon.”

The Nurse shifts upwards from sobbing to wailing.

(“Izuru! Dammit! I’m gonna friggin’ punch you!”  
“Don’t insult a defenceless woman! What kind of man are you?”  
“Eeeeeeeh, I’m sorry for having rotten melons!”  
“There there, Mikan, I will check your melons for you…”)

The sound of them all yelling over each other, mostly at me, is distasteful. I consider retreating into a sulk.

“Everyone!” Dandelion cries out, hastily. “Teruteru, don’t you dare. Guys, stop a second—just—let me do my job…”

Badger and Werewolf grant him a few moments’ mutinous silence.

Dandelion takes my hand, lifts it to his fluff and pets himself with it. “Izuru, what did you mean just now?” As always he is gentle, patient. Understanding. _Too_ understanding. _He has noticed too._

“Despair has infected her,” I say. “She is under some kind of mind control.”

The Nurse stops wailing and takes off at a sprint.

“Wha—?!” “Sh—!” Werewolf and Badger gape after her. There is a second’s uncoordination before either recovers enough from their surprise to chase her, but—

—even before that, there is a squeal, a crash, and a Nurse spread out on the ground.

(“Dammit! Is she hurt?”  
“My my, what a delectable pose—”  
“Don’t stare! Either help her up or cover her up!”)

“Wow, Izuru!” Dandelion chirps, overly loud. “Chasing her into the spilled soda! How quick-thinking you are!”

“That was your doing, not mine,” I say.

“Only you could masterfully turn my worthless clumsiness to your advantage. How like the Ultimate Hope!”

“It was not planned,” I insist.

“So that was your plan,” Badger says. He bows his head to me from where he is kneeling by the newly-sobbing Nurse. “I shouldn’t have doubted your manhood, Izuru my boy! Next time don’t be modest!”

“Indeed, there is no need for modesty, as Mikan is showing us—”

“Teruteru, I’d better not see you taking pictures.”

“Now, now, Nagito, my phone is in my hand only to tell the others—”

“Tell us what?” calls Growler from a distance. “Heeeey! What happened, Meeki?” She drops Chiaki’s hand and rushes ahead of everyone else to plop herself on the same bench onto which Badger and Werewolf have just moved the Nurse.

“Ah! You should have seen it, everyone!” Dandelion is so animated, almost hyperactive, despite his tiredness. Sugary drink on an empty stomach. Or something more than that. “It turned out Mikan is secretly some kind of brainwashed spy for Despair, and only Izuru with his Ultimate Hope saw through her! And then she tried to run and he defeated her without even moving! Izuru is so talented!”

Some of the others look at Badger for a more sensible accounting, but he only shrugs.

The Nurse, who has kept up her sobbing throughout and is currently being held and petted by Growler, babbles “I’m s-sorry I ran! Please forgive me! I was just frightened of that nasty red-eyed boy with the blood on him! Forgive me! He’s a bully and he s-said m-mean things about me that weren’t truuuue-hoo-hooooo!”

Dandelion moves to stand in front of her. She quails and huddles closer to Growler.

Dandelion’s eyes and voice are cold. “Oh, knock it off, Mikan. Falling to Despair. And then letting yourself be discovered so easily. How can I forgive that? You call yourself an Ultimate?”

The Nurse freezes for a second while Growler glares up at him, about to say something.

Then the Nurse hisses and lunges for him with her fingernails. Only Growler reflexively clutching her more tightly protects Dandelion from injury.

“ _How dare you?_ ” The Nurse chokes and spits out her words in indiscriminate directions. “How dare you all keep me from my beloved?”

“Your who? Ibuki doesn’t under—”

“And you!” She lunges at Dandelion again and gets closer this time before she is stopped. He falls back a step. “ _You_ won’t forgive me? You _wish_ somebody accepted you like my beloved does for me! But no-one will ever love you, because you’re worthless. You don’t even make yourself useful like I do. Everyone despises you even more than they hate me! How does it feel to know _your whole existence is unforgivable?!_ ”

“Peko—!” Growler begs, desperately trying to maintain her grip. The others are finally kicked into action and go about restraining the frenzied Nurse. I disregard this for more important matters.

Dandelion is shaking and pale, staring towards the Nurse even though people are now in the way.

“Hearing that from someone besides myself…” he murmurs, “suddenly it doesn’t sound as…”

I pull him into a hug. With his usual unconditional trust, he lets me, unresisting.

He is quiet for a while, then:

“You accept me? Even as… as I am?”

“Of course.” It stings that he had to make it a question when he is so completely, objectively perfect in every way.

“Mnh,” says Dandelion into my neck.

“That said, I would like to know what you are playing at.”

“Hmnh?” He ends the hug and looks at me curiously.

“You keep boasting about how great I am.”

He turns his angelic smile on me with full force, which proves his guilt if nothing else did. “I don’t know what you—”

“ _Dandelion._ ”

“Haha, I guess you got me. But I would’ve thought it was obvious. I’m helping you shine.”

“That is not necessary.”

“It’s not? But it’s important! Your hope’s so incandescent, it deserves to be seen by as many—”

“You’re hurting Chiaki.”

“What?” Losing the little colour his cheeks had regained, he takes a step back. “H-how?”

“That is… personal to her.12 Just dial it back, all right? I am over-powered enough without you blowing my horn for me.”

“Blowing your…” He moistens his lips. “I mean… I’m sorry, Izuru. I just want everyone to see you as I do.”

“I don’t think anyone will ever see me as you do.” I ruffle his fluff. He practically purrs at the affection. The corner of my mouth twitches and I am reminded of storms.

Back in the deep times when humanity cowered and prayed that the thunder might leave them alone, there would always be a handful of souls, overwhelmed, who ran outside and begged the storm to claim them as sacrifice. My Dandelion is one such. He craves the feeling of losing himself in something larger than himself. For all that he talks about hope, it is _awe_ that Dandelion chases with the thoughtless hyperfocus of a cat stalking a spot of light. He cannot help it any more than the cat can. It is something else we will work on when he is well.

(“Bullies! Jealous freaks! You can’t hurt me any more!”  
“Mikan, please! This behaviour is totes unlike your gentle self!”  
“My beloved made a castle of my heart and none of your torments can get through its walls!”  
“What hideous strength could corrupt the maiden of white magic?”  
“Haaa! Love! I’m drowning in so much love! That’s why I’m going to forgive you all once my beloved is through with you!”  
“Nearly had my fuckin’ eye out—”)

“Izzyru.” Growler, having backed away from the struggle, waves in my face. “What happened to her? What happened to my Mikan?”

“She is not in control of herself,” I say. This is the truth. “She does not mean anything she says.” This is a kind lie.

“Is it… will she…”

“It should be reversible. I will look at her later if you will allow it.”

Growler bites her lip for a moment. “Yeah. I haven’t even seen you headbang yet, so you better visit Ibuki’s room, where she will be watching over Mikan like a pro. Mikan… she’d do the same for any of us when she’s not all swirly-whirly-eyed, so I can at least do this.”

“You may want backup.”

“True… solo isn’t much fun when the audience is rowdy. Pekky-Pekoooo?” Growler hustles off and quickly persuades Bamboo, with Pinstripe in tow, to help her lead away the Nurse—who is alternately struggling and weeping crocodile tears, doubtless still hoping to escape to her ‘beloved’.

I am learning new things. I did not know love could be wrong.

“Disappointing,” murmurs Dandelion, and shakes his fluffy head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 Local thoughtless asshole: “everyone look at my wonderful and perfect boyfriend made from the corpse of yours, Chiaki!”


	14. Day 17, 03:40

#### Day 17, 03:40

“It looks like Mikan was running that way, right? I mean, if she slipped in that puddle?” Chiaki points.

“Yes, and going to take the left path,” I say.

“Let’s go.”

Our diminished group walks in twos and threes across the early-morning campus. Chiaki and Crab are quietly purposeful. The Red Queen and her courtiers converse in subdued, abortive phrases. Gopher skips nervously behind Badger’s bulk. Werewolf alone is unaffected by the prevailing mood, but nobody responds much to her comments, so she balances along the top of a fence to keep herself amused. I understand the feeling, although for her it is a physical restlessness, not mental.

“There,” says Chiaki quietly. Immediately, Badger and Werewolf—leaping down to a perfect landing—race towards the blonde, fluffily-pigtailed girl Chiaki has spotted.

Dandelion is not strong enough to jog, and I will not leave his side, so we take longer to catch up.

“Give it up, Junko!” Badger roars.

“Yeah, Enoshima! Tell us what you did with our classmate!” Werewolf joins in.

I seat Dandelion on the nearest bench and indicate that this time he is to stay there. I estimate about thirty seconds before he disregards this.

“Like, you expect me to tell nobodies like you?”

“You better!” says Werewolf, and threateningly smacks a fist into an open palm.

“Mukuro, where is Junko?” I ask.

Chiaki gives me a puzzled look.

“I don’t want it to come to this, but if you test us you’re in for some pain!” says Badger.

“Yah? Bring it on, uggo.”

“If you tell us now I’ll only beat ya half to death!” says Werewolf.

“Mukuro, where is Junko?” I ask.

“Uh, you said Junko is the blonde, right?” says Flamingo, scratching under his hat.

“Why do you call Miss Enoshima that, my puzzling bishounen? Who could mistake the star of so many sexy fantasi—”

“Mukuro, where is Junko?” I ask over Gopher’s drooling.

“Ugh! Like, stop calling me that, you—you whatever major loser!” she snaps at me.

“Yes. For the record: impostor,” says Crab.

The Soldier gnashes her teeth, pulls out a handgun with demon speed and, aiming directly between my eyes, pulls the trigger.

The gun jams.

I bat it out of her hand and get her in a wrist lock.

“She’s g-got a gun!” says Gopher.

“Had,” chirps Dandelion, next to him.

“Mukuro, where is Junko?” I ask.

There is a pause.

“Wh… what are you going to do to her?” asks the Soldier pitifully.

The others stop bickering for a moment.

“I am going to ruin her scheme at her moment of triumph, plunging her into the most despair she has ever known.”

(“Izuru, for the—”  
“Has he gone mad?”  
“What’d you go and say that—”  
“Izuru always knows what he’s—”  
“She’ll never spill now!”)

The Soldier appears not to hear the others. She is trembling.

I wait.

“Statue,” she blurts. “The statue of the founder, there’s, there’s a secret entrance—you can kill me but please let her live—”

I release her when the probability that she will not attack again ticks over into a certainty.

“…please don’t kill my little sister,” she trails off. She is sniffling.

“May I hug you?” I ask.

“Whuh?” Her face is streaming from both eyes and both nostrils.

“May I hug you?”

“Y… yeah…”

I do. She is stiff for a few moments, then grabs at me, still shaking. The others are, mercifully, shocked into silence.

“Junko will be all right,” I whisper in the Soldier’s ear.

She grips me fractionally tighter in response.

I knock her unconscious as gently as is practical. She is not surprised.

I catch her before she hits the ground. I set her down.

“Uh,” says Flamingo, “what the _hell_.”

“Know your enemy,” I say.

“I repeat, what the _hell_.”

I search my limited repertoire of gestures and pull out a shrug. “I told her what was most likely to work, which also happened to be the truth. At least, I assume you do all want to stop Junko? You seemed to.”

“ _Yeah_ we want to stop her! Why d’you even ask?” says Werewolf.

“And what of the shape-changing fiend before us?” demands Purveyor of Fluffies.

“She is an Ultimate Soldier. She is dangerous.”

“Dangerous…” Badger folds his arms and looks down. “Yes. For one like her, surrender must be a greater loss than death… She will need someone to watch over her.”

“I volunteer,” says Gopher, “at least unless she makes that crying face again. _Ay yi yie, quel rougarou_ …”

“I volunteer for Teruteru not bein’ alone with an unconscious chick,” says Werewolf.

Badger bends to pick the Soldier up.

Speaking of which…

“Dandelion, put it down,” I say.

“Huh?” says Dandelion from behind me.

I turn to face him. “Give.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“ _Dandelion_.”

“Aww.” He takes the handgun out of his jacket and hands it to me.

I close my hand over it. “This is not for you,” I tell him firmly.

“But…”

I toss the twisted lump of plastic and metal that was a gun over my shoulder into the nearest waste receptacle.

Dandelion pouts at me.

“You’re lucky you are so pretty and perfect and fluffy,” I tell him.

At least that distracts him for a while.

Badger, meanwhile, has his hands on Chiaki’s shoulders. He is saying “You’ve led us this far. They’ll follow you into the gates of hell, so rely on your classmates, class rep!”

She sets her mouth into a determined line and nods.

Badger turns around and takes the unconscious Soldier back from Werewolf. The chain that was around his neck is now serving more practical duty around the Soldier. Badger moves off, Werewolf and Gopher with him.

The statue of the school’s founder, my namesake, is not far away. I am ready for this interminable night to come to a close so that I may put my boyfriend to bed and make him stay there. Possibly the chain idea has merit.

“How _did_ you know what to say?” Dandelion asks. His head is again on my shoulder while we walk. My arm is around his waist, partly because I want it to be, partly to keep him upright.

“She loves and understands her sister more than anyone else. When forced to choose, she had to do what was best for her, even if that was not what Junko thinks she wants.”

“You predicted all that?”

“I _grokked_ that.”

I think he is so tired that it does not register.

#### Day 17, 03:59

`Miodaaaaaaaa: seriously does anyone else think this is weird`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: peko and fuyuhiko dont xchange one word for two years and suddenly tonight theyre sticking togeth like gaffer tape`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: tell me im not the only one to notice something`  
`ILikeFluff: I noticed something, but I believe this is a tact situation and that consequently I should keep it to myself.`  
`Pekoyama: IZURU YES THANK YOU THIS IS A ‘TACT SITUATION’`  
`Pekoyama: Everyone needs to BE MORE LIKE IZURU`  
`*One participant has liked this message: lucky77.`  
`ILikeFluff: Nobody has said that about me, ever.`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: suspiciousssssssssss`

“Torch sconces, pressure plates, fake books, switches you have to hit with an arrow… I hope the solution isn’t a magic word…” mutters Chiaki to herself.

I do not volunteer my help with the statue. I am aware that I have been too much in the limelight already. If I do nothing then Dandelion cannot make a fuss over it. Also, it makes me feel strange to look at the name plaque.

“Nagito? Could you do something for me?” Chiaki says.

“Anything for a chosen Ultimate!”

Chiaki stands behind him. “Point at the statue, please?”

He turns his head over his shoulder towards her and points without looking.

Chiaki carefully sights along his arm. Then, at her unhurried pace, she walks up to touch a specific place on the side of the plinth.

A square of stone slides inwards.

Chiaki looks up at the statue for a moment.

“If you step back a little and towards us,” Dandelion suggests.

She does so and a small section of concrete sinks under her foot.

The hidden mechanism activates. As everyone turns towards the sudden grinding noise, a stairway opens in the ground.

(“I had not imagined you were a sorceress of such puissance!”  
“Goodness! Well done, Chiaki, well done indeed!”  
“Oh, well… I used a cheat code.”  
“Hmph. I am impressed.”  
“Did you see how smooth the action was? That’s awesome workmanship right there!”)

The newly-opened gap in the floor is not long enough to allow easy access to the stairs, so that we all must duck our heads under what is effectively a low sill in order to descend. It is going to rain soon, and it will flow down the stairs. A very strange design. I would have placed a grate at the bottom of the flight, at the very least.

I would also not have included the flying pair of scissors. I knock those aside.

“Kyahahaha! What have we here?” somebody says from the darkness ahead.

“Who—who is there?” demands the Red Queen.

“Wha-what? You’re not an adorable boy…” says the darkness.

“Indeed not! I am an adorbs _girl_!” says Red Queen.

“That’s no good! I have particular tastes, you know! Promises were made!”

Flamingo gropes far enough along the wall to find a light switch.

“Boo,” says the girl, with her face centimetres from his.

Flamingo screams and flails his way backwards into Purveyor of Fluffies. The passageway forbids travelling comfortably more than two abreast, so the two of them cannon back into me and Dandelion, with a hamstery squeak of protest somewhere in the mix.

Crab squints at the newcomer. “That’s the writer girl. Or, rather, it is and isn’t…?” There is something their talent cannot make sense of.

“Kh… a loathsome miasma of death surrounds this one. Be strong, my Generals!”

“Ahem! Well, mistaking me for Miss Morose is just rude, so let me make an official introduction! Your local lovable Ultimate Murderous Fiend, Genocide Jack, here with a shiv and a smile!” The Murderer spins, scissors snipping like castanets, and sweeps a bow.

Red Queen squeals and claps her hands.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say. “You are famous online.”

“Kyahaha! I know, right?!” The Murderer cranes her head, unable to see me clearly behind the others. “Actually, that’s a double-edged scissorblade. All the attention suddenly after I kept my identity under wraps for years! And! Some of the stuff they’re saying I’ve done is… what’s her phrase again? ‘Diluting my personal brand’. I may not look it, but I have professional standards—”

“Of course! You would not have killed the entire council—Genocide Jack’s victims are all male!” Red Queen blurts.

The Murderer’s eyes snap back to her. A reappraisal is in progress. “You’re right… adorable boys are the only grist for my mill!”

“I am sorry for interrupting, but… I am your most ginorms fan!” says Red Queen, bouncing. “Genocide Jack! Genocider Sho! The Bloodbath Fever Killer! I have read everything about you! To think that I would actually meet Japan’s most intriguing serial killer, and at my school!”

(“M-Miss Sonia…?”  
“The she-cat has no fear…”  
“Such self-assurance, as expected from the Ultimate Princess…”)

The Murderer clearly has no idea how to react to genuine admiration, which leaves the Red Queen an open row. She capitalises on it immediately. With a smooth blend of common touch and bred-in-the-bone authority, a delicate paradox, the Red Queen is soon in complete control of the conversation. The Murderer was clearly here with instructions to stop us; the Red Queen has her believing we have done her a gracious honour by visiting her underground tunnel. It is a virtuoso display by an Ultimate in her field.

(“Did you know she was into this serial killer stuff?!”  
“Kehehe… the Dark Lady possesses many hidden depths. Even she may be unaware of her full potential!”  
“Soldiers. Serial killers. With all this, I fear even more for Ryota.”  
“Don’t give up hope, not when we’re this close. We think they want him alive, remember?”)

If you want to talk about Ultimate titles gained simply by being born, look to me. I woke up in a pod. I never lifted a finger to earn any of my talents. Mine was not even the hand that signed the Faustian pact that started it all.

(The Ultimate Law Student in me has made sure this point can be proven in court, should I need to win my freedom via above-board means.)

Contrariwise, and I can say this with the authority of another Ultimate Princess (laugh away, Dandelion), the skills Red Queen makes look so natural will have taken every one of her eighteen years to acquire the honest way.

“…should love to see how you craft them sometime! Oh my, but I have kept you talking long enough! You must be dying for some fresh air, so I and my retinue shall not detain you further. It was a true pleasure to have met you, my dear Jack!”

The Red Queen motions the rest of us to let the Murderer by. We stand back against the wall single file. 

This is not going to work, but it was a good attempt.

“Yeah…” The Murderer starts toward the stairs. She is mumbling to herself in some confusion. “…she’s a girl, he’s a mess and what’s with those teeth, he’s too goth, that one I couldn’t lift to string up, girl again… wait…”

Everyone forgets to take into account how pretty Dandelion is.

The Murderer shakes her head with a flop of tongue, puts her hands to her cheeks and squeals. “God, I take back everything I said about that air-headed bimbitch. She actually delivered. And not just one!”

Dandelion and I both try to stand protectively in front of each other and, after bumping shoulders, end up back where we started.

“Jack,” the Red Queen tries; but for the Murderer, this now falls under ‘doing her job’, and she will not be dissuaded.

“Rumpled and bloody… that fires me up! And such long luscious hair on a boy! I don’t know if you should be locked in a tower or crawling out of a TV! Ooh! And the dying swan vibe on the other! I love it! I know— _you’re_ the dark fallen angel who preys on pretty boys until you find yourself smitten with _this_ innocent virgin—”

Dandelion snorts.

“—yeah, that works! You really should be taller than him, though, and have bigger hands. God, my rotten little ovaries are going to explode! Quick! Kiss so I can slice you both up!”

“Worth i—”

I press a finger to Dandelion’s lips before he can follow through. “Careful, please.”

“C’mon, smoochies! Do it for your good pal Jack!”

I think she is actually teasing and will not try anything fatal around so many witnesses, but she is still an obstruction. “Would anyone else like to handle this one?” I offer politely.

Purveyor of Fluffies strikes a pose. “Foul scissor-handed one! Our bard and his warlock will not be your prey this day! To arms, my Generals, and let us make her rue the day she crossed Tanaka, the Forbidden One!”

I watch the confrontation unfold with some concern for the safety of the Twelve Zodiac Generals. Purveyor of Fluffies weaves and feints as well as he can in the close quarters. The Murderer, though she makes wide swings with her scissor blades, is distracted by a dozen purposeful furballs scratching, squeaking, nipping at exposed skin. A few of them manage to dislodge a spare pair of scissors from a holster on her leg without being hit by her increasingly irritated slaps. They really are clever fluffy-wuffy babies.

I look at Dandelion. “Tickles,” I remark.

He has my fingertip in his mouth and is licking it. I think he is annoyed and getting back at me.

I bend closer to him. “Sorry. Didn’t want my first kiss to be under someone else’s orders.”

He releases his prisoner. “Aw. That’s cute.”

“It is not.”

“Jeez, would you stop—call off these—fuckin’ furry—aaaaCHOO!” The girl abruptly collapses to the ground.

“Yield, witch who feeds upon the lives of others!”

The girl, glasses askew, whips her head around the area. “Who—? Where—? Oh no. No no no no…”

Her hand goes to her pocket. Red Queen and Chiaki grab her and confiscate the little bag before she can open it. Pepper, judging by the smell.

“Now _that_ is the writer girl,” Crab says.

“I thought she was the murder girl!” says Flamingo.

“Two ends of a seesaw,” I say.

The girl who is now a Writer struggles against the others. She is finding it hard to talk with a dry tongue. “Wh-why are you all staring? You’re thinking how ugly I look, aren’t you?!”

“Not in the slightest, my dear,” says Red Queen.

“I am,” says Dandelion unhelpfully.

“W-well, whatever _she’s_ been doing, it wasn’t me! We don’t share memories. I don’t know anything _about_ Junko!”

“I see, I see,” says Red Queen and pats her hand. Simultaneously, she shoots the rest of us a look that says “stay out of this”.

Flamingo tries to pick up one of the Generals to return to Purveyor of Fluffies and says “Ow!”

“Scoop from the sides, both hands, like this,” I say, demonstrating.

“Little shit,” he says, shaking his bitten hand.

“You are very large to them, especially when coming from the front. Imagine a gigantic Junko trying to snatch _you_.”

He thinks about this. “Would she also have gigantic, you know…”

“Hands, yes. If you did not trust her to be gentle and not crush you, doubtless you would be afraid.” I rub noses with Crimson Steel Elephant Maga-Z and let him leap onto his daddy’s shoulder.

(“Tanaka, man? I just wanted to say that was… actually pretty badass.”  
“You… thought so? I mean—I did not expect a mere serf whose third eye is unopened to appreciate the magnitude of my powers…”  
“Y-yeah? Just—don't let it go to your head around Miss Sonia or anything!”)

“Everybody, outside,” commands the Red Queen. She has the Writer by the hand and is no longer being actively resisted. The rest of us precede them up the stairs.

I take in a breath. I calculate the time until sunrise and estimate when the rain is likely to start. The Writer still smells pungent in the open air, but she is not diseased or despairing, so it does not bother me particularly. Everyone has scents, even Princesses.

“…think it is best if you come with me now, Toko. Hanging around dark passageways in the early morning is unseemly for young ladies, and besides, you clearly have no business in such a suspicious place, do you?”

“I… I g-guess it is time I went to feed Kameko…” The Writer bites at her thumbnail. She is sweating.

“Kameko?”

“M-my stink bug…”

“What species?” I interrupt.

“ _H-halyomorpha halys_ …”

“Stripy antennae,” I say, happy.

“How charming. I shall be pleased to meet… him? Her?” says the Red Queen.

“Sh-she’s a she.”

“Splendid! Then all that remains is to ask one or two of these gentlemen to accompany us for protection…”

Flamingo and Purveyor of Fluffies nearly fall over each other attempting to walk by the Red Queen’s side and not the Writer’s.

“…and let us be off! Chiaki, my dear, you and the others can handle that little errand for me elsewhere, can you not?”

Chiaki nods, mouth firm.

“Hell yes! As they say in Japan, it smells like team spirit!” The Red Queen, flanked by her courtiers, ushers away an increasingly confused Writer.

“I think we can trust they will watch her like hawks,” Crab says.

“Why should I have bigger hands?” I ask.

Dandelion shudders. “Your hands are perfect, Izuru.” He laces his slender, pale fingers through my slightly shorter ones. It is a convincing argument because I cannot imagine them fitting together any better.

“So then,” says Chiaki, and the steel in her eyes is cherry pink. “Izuru, tell us how we beat an Ultimate Analyst.”


	15. Day 17, 04:13

#### Day 17, 04:13

“You have heard it said,” I begin, “that the key to strategy is not to choose a path to victory, but to choose so that _all_ paths lead to a victory?”

“Yes. So how do we do that?”

“You misunderstand. That is what Junko will be doing. That is the realm of an Analyst.”

“But you can do that better, can’t you?” says Chiaki.

I crease my forehead a little way. “That is not something you should take for granted. She has been alive, brilliant and learning for seventeen years. I have existed for seventeen _days_. She has emotions. She understands emotions. I barely qualify for either. And she has a hostage, home ground advantage and time to prepare.”

“Izuru will destroy her easily!” Dandelion mistranslates with a beaming smile, which fades as something else occurs to him. “Although… is that really all right? Would such a weak despair really serve as a stepping stone?”

“We get Ryota back and _then_ we can discuss… hope and despair and similar matters,” Crab insists.

Dandelion touches his chin and hums in thought.

“Then, what strat _can_ you give us, Izuru?” asks Chiaki.

“Only generalities. Remain flexible. Her mood shifts rapidly. I will be weird and try to confuse her if possible. Can real people turn off their emotions?”

“…No, Izuru, they can’t.”

“Never mind that, then. The major factor in our favour, I suppose, is that she may not entirely want to win.”

Crab frowns. “Why would she not want to win?”

“Success would seem predictable to her at this stage. Junko seeks novelty above all else. Taken to extremes, that can make people consider… unusual courses of action.” Oh, how fully I grok that. “But don’t assume that means she can be talked out of anything; just that she may not react how you’d expect.”

`KonamiCoed: We’re going in. About to mute chat. Wish us luck, everyone.`  
`SoniaNevermind: Good luck!`  
`CoachNeko: GET PUMPED! WE BELIEVE IN YOU!`  
`ILikeFluff: In case we are all killed in an explosion, piranha tank or other deathtrap, Ibuki should find a Dr. Miaya Gekkogahara in the campus directory to assess Mikan.`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: rabbit girl? roger roger`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: but youre coming back so theres no need`  
`ILikeFluff: Also in the case of our deaths, it has been moderately unboring to meet you all.`  
`SunniGummi: thxxxxxxx vlad`  
`ILikeFluff: :-E`

I check my body. Tired and stressed but not to the point of impairment. I check Dandelion. Exhausted and sick and absolutely refusing to go back to his room. I check Dandelion’s luck. Firmly under the control of mine. I check the other two. Worried and determined. Right then.

The four of us look at the door at the end of the underground passageway. I can make out quiet conversation inside.

(“…expect me to uproot everything when I’m this close to a breakthrough!”  
“You’re always close to a breakthrough. Now get up and help me pack your crap—”)

I knock on the door.

Chiaki and Crab smack their faces with their palms.

From inside, the Analyst shouts “I told you, no playing with the boy toy until he’s done what I want him for!”

I borrow the Murderer’s tickly, gravelly voice and reply “You promised me an adorable boy!”

“Then get back to your post and watch out for him! Jeez, I’m meant to be the high-maintenance one…” I hear her move away, muttering to herself.

I make sure the others are ready. I open the door. They crowd in behind me.

This room was designed by the same unimaginative architect as mine, favouring dark metal plates on everything, except that here someone has made an attempt to soften the effect by fitting decorative wood panelling over the end wall. There is a desk, a computer, a chair, an Animator on the chair, and a miniature fridge half full of energy drinks, and those are the main items of interest.

The Analyst comes out of a side room, carrying a box full of rolled-up posters, and says “What did I just sa—oh. Ryota, sugarplum, play the file called ‘ZV test’. Full screen.”

“Whatever that is, do no such thing,” says Crab.

The Animator turns around. “Totoro? Is it time for my appointment already?” I decide his nickname is Sprite.

“That was a week ago. Did you really write the note I found in your dorm?”

“What note?”

“I see.”

“For the love of—” The Analyst tosses the box she was carrying back through the side door, grabs Sprite and presses an ice pick into his neck.

“Ryota!” says Crab.

“J-Junko? Is this a _knife_? What’s happ…”

“Don’t touch my classmate,” Chiaki murmurs.

She ignores them all. “ _I_ -zu-ru Ka-mu- _kuuu_ -ra,” she says. “You couldn’t just do me that one solid and die like you were supposed to?”

“I did die,” I say. “Then I feasted on the blood of the living and got better.”

“That explains the stains. Those won’t come out, you know. Blood’s an absolute bear!”

Much more is passing between us unsaid than is being said. That is the way of things between two Analysts. It is like having a deep conversation with someone after too long hearing only small talk.

“If you’re counting on help from Genocide Jack or Mukuro Ikusaba, you’re out of luck,” Dandelion tells the Analyst with his cute smile.

She breaks off and eyes him, then the others. “The gamer girl I know, _you_ he never shuts up about, of course I’ve met Mr. Boring, but who are you?”

“Nobody very important. Just some guy who sometimes gets lucky.”

“Oh god, another one of _those_.” She turns away from him as though from a bad smell. I add this to her list of offences. In fact, I put it right at the top. “You keep on disappointing me, Izuru. _You_ , of all people, buying into that lame old hopeful power-of-friendship BS?”

“No, hope is boring. These are my minions,” I say. I sense the others trying their best to keep their expressions neutral. “You see, I was always going to choose despair; I just don’t think you’re very good at it. So I started my own organisation, called Despair In the Classroom Environment. Our mission statement is to protect the world from hopeification, to unite all peoples with—”

Sprite yelps in pain. She has pierced his skin.

“Just… stop talking,” she says.

“Give us Ryota and we will leave,” I say. “That is the best outcome for you.”

She snorts. “That your analysis? Because it’s not mine. You may have defeated my ugly sister—”

“I thought Mukuro was the pretty one,” I say.

The Analyst throws her head back and moans strangely. “This is why you need despair, Izuru! You’re so _good_ at it!”

I am not sure why she seemed to take that as a friendly insult. I did think the Soldier was the pretty one.

“Give us Ryota and we will leave,” I say.

“Not happening, Crapunzel.”

“At least show us he is unharmed,” says Crab.

She laughs and twists the point of the ice pick into Sprite’s cheek, just shy of drawing further blood. “He was half dead before I even met him, so don’t pretend to care about it now, _neighbour_.”

Crab makes an agonised sound. I hear their hands clench and unclench, skin creaking against skin.

“We’re at sort of an impasse,” Chiaki says. “You should probably compromise. I think.”

“Oh, fine. I’m not a horrible person, you know! I’ll let one of you look him over. But only one, and you only come as close as I say! Eenie, meenie, miney… _you_.”

I hook a finger into the back of Dandelion’s shirt collar before he can start moving in response to her pointed finger.

“Please at least try to avoid the _obvious_ traps,” I say.

“No, that’s wrong. If we all doubt one another, this situation will never be resolved. For the sake of hope, someone has to start trusting somebody!” With that entirely incorrect final statement, my exasperating boyfriend twists out of my grasp like a large and determined cat and steps forward, hands raised peaceably.

As soon as Dandelion is within her reach, the Analyst seizes him and kicks the Animator to the ground, as anyone could have predicted she would.

Sprite scrambles away from her, not in our direction, but instead underneath his desk. I had also predicted that, but really? _Really?_

“Nagito!” Chiaki gasps.

“Oops,” Dandelion murmurs.

“Ryota?” says Crab.

“…just wanted to make anime…” says Sprite, hugging his knees and rocking.

The Analyst has now become a lot more animated, ironically. With her pick jammed under Dandelion’s jaw, she begins to circle us, toward the door. She pauses when I do not move aside.

“Izuru,” she warns. “Scoot your ultimate butt or the little horseshoe gets nailed.”

“You couldn’t stop me with a hand grenade, so what makes you think a horseshoe will come any closer?” I say.

If I didn’t have my emotional responses under close control, loud spiky noises would be rampaging through my head and hammering at my amygdala right now. As it is, I feel distinctly uncomfortable.

She rolls her eyes independently of each other, an interesting trick, and presses harder with the pick, forcing his chin up. “You stand _way_ too close to each other, he keeps looking at you, and there are white hairs all over your collar,” she says boredly. “Diagnosis: you’re the top.”

“You’re being foolish, Junko,” Dandelion murmurs, though with every word he risks jabbing himself with the pick. “I don’t mind dying for the sake of hope. I’d welcome it! We’re both steps on a ladder, you see? I’m a willing one, you’re an unknowing one, but we both serve hope just the same.”

“You may be the most idiotic hope fanboy I’ve ever met. Despair is going to _win_ ,” she snaps. Knocking him off balance with a kick to the back of his knee, she seizes a handful of his beautiful fluffy hair, _hair that she has no right to touch_ , and forces his head down until the sharp end of the pick is hovering just in front of his eye.

Dandelion, making a sensible decision for once, goes very still.

The Analyst looks pointedly at me. “Your move, Izzy Agaylea.”

There is a pause.

I sigh and let my head hang a little. “You win, Junko. As long as he is unharmed, I will make no move against you.”

Her grin is a Cheshire crescent.

“Izuru…” Chiaki sympathetically says.

I keep my eyes on the Analyst. “Dandelion?”

He whimpers questioningly.

“I love you,” I say.

And then I let my boyfriend’s luck off its chain.

What happens next is, roughly speaking, this:

Dandelion’s untamed, spiteful luck, furious at being held back so long and teased beyond endurance by what I have just said, immediately lunges with vicious intent towards Dandelion and anything close by—

(But I am lucky too, and I like Dandelion unharmed.)

—the first thing the Analyst notices is a flaring-up of pain from a week-old injury, where some very unsweet individual knocked her unconscious, leaving a lump the size of a baseball—

—she winces and the ice pick swings out of alignment, but her grip on him does not falter—

—then the power strip next to the desk, overburdened by a computer, several monitors and a miniature fridge, pops and sparks, and an arc of electricity strikes the Analyst like a pouncing tiger—

—electric shocks cause muscles to contract, so she could not let him go right now even if she wanted to—

—before she has recovered from this, a curl of smoke and the stink of burning hair announce that she is now on fire—

— _now_ she shoves Dandelion away, and he hits the wall with a thud—

—with a screech, she slaps at her head once, then pounds on it over and over to extinguish the flames—

—staggers into the chair, catches her impractical heel on its wheel, and rockets into the air, crashing down again on her face a moment later—

—now seeing stars, she scarcely appears to notice the four bolts dropping one by one from the ceiling and tinkling on the floor around her—

—she lifts her head and catches my eye, disbelieving, furious, ecstatic, and I _smile_ —

—and the heavy alloy ceiling slab lands directly on her head like a final school bell.

For a moment there is no sound but computer fans powering down and hyperventilation from under the desk.

“What was that?” demands Crab.

“She was warned not to touch Chiaki’s classmates,” I say.

“ _What was that?_ ”

“…luck…” croaks Dandelion, sitting slumped against the wall.

“Gah.” Crab leaves it for now in favour of making a graceful leap over the fallen Analyst, shoving the desk chair to one side, and dropping to their knees in front of the desk. “Ryota. You’re safe. I’m here,” they gently say.

`SoniaNevermind: Please update us when you can! We are on the tender hooks!`  
`Pekoyama: Is Ryota located? Do you need backup?`  
`SunniGummi: theyre gonna b okay right?`  
`Mahiru: Of course they will.`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: hate waitinggggg`  
`KonamiCoed: We’re okay. Ryota too.`  
`CoachNeko: what happened??????? ???`  
`RyotaMitaraii: You won’t believe this, but…`  
`RyotaMitaraii: Izuru just murdered Junko by telling his boyfriend he loved him.`  
`Mahiru: What`  
`Pekoyama: What`  
`KonamiCoed: It’s true.`  
`ILikeFluff: She is not dead.`  
`Miodaaaaaaaa: what`  
`SunniGummi: what`  
`CoachNeko: WHAT`  
`ILikeFluff: And that is not what happened. I only triggered Dandelion’s luck. He did all the rest.`  
`Tenderloin: what`  
`Pekoyama: Fuyuhiko says “what”`  
`SoniaNevermind: …Oh my goodness.`  
`Lord_of_Ice: Peons! Have you never before witnessed a warlock’s curse?`  
`KonamiCoed: It was play of the game. I wish I’d filmed it.`  
`ILikeFluff: I did not curse anybody.`  
`RyotaMitaraii: You destroyed her with laser-guided rainbows is what you did.`

“That is not what happened,” I say plaintively.

“Sorry, but you’re not escaping the credit for this one,” says Crab from under the desk. They sound entirely too amused. They turn back to Sprite and murmur “Touch, Ryota, there we go.”

Sprite tentatively puts out a hand, fingers spread, and makes contact with Crab’s spread fingertips.

Chiaki has established that the Analyst is indeed still breathing, and for the moment nobody cares further than that.

And Dandelion is sitting against the wall, exhaustion having finally caught up with him.

I go over to check on him. He lifts his head and captures my eyes with his tearful ones.

“You _used_ me,” he says.

I crouch. “That was not—”

“You _used me as a stepping stone_. I love you so much! That’s the most wonderful thing anyone ever did for me!” I permit myself to be grabbed and pulled down next to him. Tributaries of dark hair spread across the tiles. A fluffy head occupies my shoulder.

I do not want him to think like this. “The timing was calculated, but the sentiment—”

“Sssh. I knew you meant it. It wouldn’t have worked otherwise, right?”

“I do not see you as something to be used.”

“Haha, well, I love you even when you’re mistaken.”

Apparently I am not the only one who repeats phrases when I like the sound of them. I squish my cheek into his fluff because it is there.

Crab has coaxed their Animator out from under the desk and is tutting over the cut on his neck.

Chiaki’s fingers fly in intricate patterns; updates or instructions to the others.

I steal a few moments just to be still and quiet with my Dandelion. He has no objections.

When I next look up, Crab has levered the metal plate off the unconscious girl.

“Someone should take this one to the security office, I suppose,” they say.

I get up, not without reluctance. I flip my hair back into order. “She can be persuasive,” I warn them. “If she starts talking to the guards…”

“That, at least, will not be an issue. The head of security himself will bring her in. They will not dare defy him.” Crab flexes their fists. Their voice has already begun to shift; their stance does too.

“Do you really have a costume for _everybody_?” Chiaki asks without looking up from her screen.

“Useful people, but no, not everybody.” Crab looks at me in particular.

“We should experiment with that sometime,” I say. “What happens if you mimic a talent for talent?”

“Talentception?” Sprite offers shyly.

“Chiaki…” Crab begins. “If I handle this, would you mind taking my foolish boy to the nurse’s office and making sure he stays there? I will relieve you as soon as I’m able.”

“Of course.” She taps something final and puts her phone away.

Crab nods to her, then to the rest of us, gazes at Sprite for a moment in which their shell falls away and they are nothing but soft, and then hoists the fallen Analyst over their shoulder and departs.

“Chiaki,” I say before she can depart too.

“Yes, Izuru?”

My chest hurts.

“If you… I am available if… to talk. Sometime. Or if you need answers. Or anything. About… him. Or—if you prefer, I can make sure you never have to see me.”

There is a sad but genuine smile. “Yes, I’d like to talk. Not… right now, but soon.”

“I am sorry,” I say.

“ _Don’t_ apologise for existing. That’s even worse. It’s like you said—it wasn’t your choice. I’ll see you t—” She stops. “I’ll see you,” she amends. “Come on, Ryota.”

“But my work?” he says, sounding lost.

Chiaki looks at me. I say “We will bring it for you,” which seems to satisfy him enough to follow her out.

I watch Chiaki leave. My chest hurts.

I gently put the pain away where it belongs.

Sorry, Hajime. You did not deserve to die, but you chose what you did in the knowledge that you might, and in the process lose her. I am me now, and I want to live, and drive a train, and mine the asteroid belt, and develop immortality, and visit a petting zoo, and learn how to be a boyfriend—an Ultimate one, since the programming you put us through compels me to master everything I attempt. So sleep, dead boy, until I work out what to do with you.


	16. Day 17, 04:28

#### Day 17, 04:28

Human beings do not stand still when they are standing still. They shift their weight between feet. They glance around. They may sniff occasionally. Their faces go through minute changes of expression even while resting in neutral. In general, they go about the business of displaying that they are alive and normal and present. Chiaki would refer to these as ‘idle animations’.

At last I can stop doing all that. When you feel every iota of airflow, all that shifting around is irritating as well as pointless.

“C’m’ere. You look exhausted.” Dandelion embraces me.

“I finff thaff hyfofritical,” I say into a faceful of fluff.

His fingers play with a strand of my hair. “Mmm. Warm silk. Silky Izuru.”

He is warm and tired and his heart is beating and he is perfect. I allow myself exactly a minute to recover like this, then a few more seconds because Dandelion hugs are fluffy and good.

“Ultimate Hope,” he coos before releasing me; part endearment, part exaltation.

“Ultimate Fluffy Student,” I say fondly.

“You were _so_ amazing tonight.”

I do not want to have to do this, but I must. “And _you_ are in big trouble.”

He freezes.

“You knew Junko would attack you. You put yourself into danger deliberately because you wanted me to do something spectacular.”

“I don’t know wha—”

“Dandelion… I am too tired for this.”

He scuffs his shoe on the floor. “It wasn’t just that. I truly wanted Ryota out of harm’s way too, but… yes, I admit, I wanted you to shine.”

“You understand why that was a bad idea? How many things could have gone wrong?”

Dandelion rubs his woolly head sheepishly. “Um, about that… I guess I never did have much impulse control.”

“Let me give you incentive to develop some. If you ever throw yourself into harm’s way for such a reason again, I will—”

“Punish me?” he suggests, smiling angelically.

“I will do nothing.”

“Huh?”

“I will do nothing. I will stand and watch, frozen in un-Ultimate-like fear for my boyfriend, with whom, if he survives, I will then break up.”

“Ah!” He clings to me, quaking, only partly faked. “No cuddly toy ever had such a cruel, heartless owner!”

“Tyrannical. You must break loose from my hideous clutches immediately.” I wait a moment. That does not seem to be happening. “But if for some reason you choose not to, then the next time you feel like being a brat, consider instead just asking for what you want in words.”

“I’m… not very good at that… just _asking_ , as though I deserve…”

I give him more time.

He gulps in a breath, clamps his eyes shut and whispers urgent, tangled words in my ear.

I blink. That was not quite what I expected, but he _did_ do as requested, so…

“I am not sure about the ‘until you pass out’ part, and some of those things are definitely off the table until you are fully recovered, but if it will make you happy, something of the sort can be arranged.”

He is bright red and not looking at my face. “But… not _just_ to make me happy? I don’t want it if it’s just that. Do you really want to, with me?”

I consider. It _is_ a pertinent question. I have always felt uneasy about those particular skills and why I was created with them. I certainly did not look forward to possibly being ordered to… demonstrate them.

But Dandelion is not my teachers. He will not force me to do anything.

After a moment, I say “Only with you.”

“That was the idea, yes. Ahahahahaha.” He covers his face with both hands. “I can’t believe I asked you for that.”

“You did, and nothing bad happened. Is that all you want? Nothing more that would bring you happiness?”

“Ah, you’re going to make me say it?”

“Of course not.”

“So mean to me, Izuru. But since you force it out of me, what I want the most is…” If he was nervous before, now he is close to panic, despite his joking around. He can’t raise his breathy voice above a whisper. “… _life_ … a… a normal, domestic life… with you.”

 _That_ is more like what I expected him to say the first time. I hug him and kiss him right above the ear. “I can’t promise normal. Where I am involved, things are likely to be weird. It will, however, be a life, as domestic as you like.”

“Well… what’s normal anyway?” he croaks. “Might as well say that normal’s when I’m with you, and nothing…” He brushes his sleeve over his eyes, chuckles, and is quiet for a long time.

I do not object to long hugs, and he got over his nervous habit of filling every silence with chatter intended to amuse me within the first few days, so this is comfortable.

“…Izuru, I need help identifying an emotion.”

“ _You_ do? From _me_?” That is normally my line.

“Oh hush. You’re better at it than you think.”

“I’ll try…”

“It’s, when I’m with you like this, and we’re talking about the future and things we want to do, only… instead of a normal feeling, like wistful or guilty or waiting to be punished for thinking it, instead it’s, it’s like… those things might actually happen? Everything might… be all right.”

“Um.”

“I knew it. There’s something wrong with me, right? For me to feel that way?”

“…Dandy, I think that’s _hope_.”

“H-huh?” He jumps. “This is…? But I never imagined…”

Squeezing him harder is the only reply I can come up with.

“…Izuru, hope feels _amazing_.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“Haha. You should.” He sighs, nibbles at my neck, and finally yawns.

I release the hug, but hold his shoulders long enough to make sure he will not fall over. “With that, my wilting branch, we need to get moving so I can get you to bed. Perhaps if I tie you to it, then you will actually get some sleep?”

“Izuru, if you tie me to my bed I guarantee sleep won’t enter the equation.”

“You are puzzling and your head is full of fluff.”

“Yes, Izuru,” he agrees readily.

I seat Dandelion on the desk chair and turn to examine the computer. Nothing is burned out, despite the high-voltage luck discharge it suffered not long ago. I boot it up. “I need to see what she was working on. I won’t be long.”

“Mm. That’s relaxing.”

“What? Oh.” I was slowly spinning the chair without realising. He seems to like it, so I keep it turning at the same speed. Dandelion tucks his knees up to his chin and yawns. If the Murderer were here to see this, she would kill him immediately.

I stop spinning the miniature carousel once the animation software loads up. There was a particular file the Analyst mentioned earlier. I navigate to it. Dandelion looks on sleepily.

A second into playback, I cover his eyes.

“Memetic hazard,” I explain, even though, with perfect trust as ever, he has not objected or even tensed a muscle.

“Mehwhat?”

“If you watched this, it would, hmm.” The video ends. It is a nasty, suppurating thing. “Make you hate hope and love despair, essentially.”

Dandelion slaps his hands over the top of my own with a little frightened mew that does complicated things to my heart.

“You’re safe. I will deal with it.” I wriggle one foot out of a shoe and press the power-down button. “Turned off now.” I replace the shoe and negotiate for my hands back.

“We can’t let this keep existing.”

“It won’t. It will be deleted with prejudice once it serves its final task.”

“…Izuru, you can’t want to _use_ this?”

“Not as it is, of course. After all, despair really is very silly. It serves no logical purpose. I think it is time Junko was encouraged to find a new hobby.” I chuckle, darkly.

Dandelion’s eyes shine. “You’re going to make her love hope?”

“No. I am going to make her love _fluffiness_.”

I leave him stunned and go to find a wheelbarrow.

#### Day 17, sunrise

I am in an underground passage. I leave the underground passage. I pick up the wheelbarrow handles.

The barrow contains a computer tower, monitors, a digital tablet and a Dandelion, who is playing with a lock of my hair and content to be taken anywhere I choose, which he probably would be even if he were not too tired for arguments.

The sound the wheel makes against the path is regular, but not perfectly so. It is the little abnormalities that prevent things becoming completely boring.

“So what is it _you_ want?”

“Hmm?” I say.

“I told you mine. What does the Ultimate Hope hope for in the future?”

“Other than cuddles? I have given that a little thought.” This is a comedic understatement. “The problem to which I keep returning is that if I truly decide to fulfil the purpose I was created with, instead of the one they thought they created me with, I may have to destroy the world.”

“I support you in anything you choose to do,” he says sleepily, “but why?”

“Because, some time ago, Junko said one true thing to me. Because when people talk—as you do, my darling—about absolute hope, what they really want is not me. They want to hear easy things. That what they are already doing is good enough. That the power was inside them all along. That everything will turn out all right if they just believe. That this world, full of suffering, inequality and cruelty to fluffy and non-fluffy animals, is really the best one we could have built.”

I let out a breath from deep, deep within. Dandelion remains quiet.

“The ones who commanded my teachers wanted something tame to parade in front of the powerful, to rally public optimism, maybe to design them new weapons in his off hours, and that was all. Be obedient and reassuring, not improve things, and, above all, never challenge the status quo. I do not think I can be that tame thing, Dandelion, not even for you. I think, when I really begin to save humanity, that things will become frightening.”

“Haha…” Dandelion kisses his handful of my hair because it is the only part within reach. “Izuru, if you think for a second that I want a _tame_ hope, you really don’t understand me at all. The hope I yearn for, the one that can annihilate any despair, is raw and wild and unstoppable, and yes, definitely frightening. I wouldn’t want it any other way. And there’s nobody I trust more to destroy my world.”

The wild-haired prophet screams his love into the heart of the storm and begs it to consume him down to the bones. I smile down at him—in the whole world, he is the only one who likes my smile—and continue to bear him along the pathways of Hope’s Peak.

I have many tasks to complete before I can rest, but I tuck my boyfriend into bed and wait for him to fall asleep before I deal with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope’s Peak Academy Fluffiness Committee hopes you enjoyed. We appreciate comments.
> 
> #### Fan art!
> 
>   * [**Secret hand-holding** by bon3bait](https://moddeydhoo.tumblr.com/post/174281898760)
>   * [**His favourite word** by furiouscatlover13](https://moddeydhoo.tumblr.com/post/175366512510)
>   * [**Moodboard collage** by eggdrawsandtalks](https://moddeydhoo.tumblr.com/post/175192610215)
>   * [**Izuru leaves his cell for the last time** by eggboy64](https://moddeydhoo.tumblr.com/post/178587994145), fellow purveyor of Kamukoma
>   * [**Flower crown and blurted question** by nothlits/klavart](https://moddeydhoo.tumblr.com/post/178614634375), certified magnificent and gay
> 

> 
> Thank you sincerely. Receiving these was a huge honour. ♥ (Izuru adds a satisfied "Fluffy.")
> 
>   * [Collage by me](https://moddeydhoo.tumblr.com/post/174748011515) because lions! and tigers!
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> #### Playlists
> 
>   * [♥♥Dandelion's Super-Duper-Hopeful Playlist!♥♥](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHyxxmJuvHkP3mBwGYyh404GM3Hyc_LHc)
>   * [ultimatePlaylist0DidntFinishGotBored](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHyxxmJuvHkNvD6uJZhxUnvVgM9JnskGP)
>   * [Dandelion would never make a despairful playlist! Don't be ridiculous! And if he did, nobody would ever see it~](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHyxxmJuvHkPQCiZWqi6czIE94fmO2BpT)
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> #### Silly memey stuff
> 
>   * [Highly Accurate illustration of Junko meeting Izuru](https://imgur.com/DsGQVvP) (made by me)
>   * [Highly Accurate illustration of Nagito seeing Izuru for the first time](https://imgur.com/451b0gz) (made by me)
> 



End file.
